


Invincible Shield

by White_Eyebrow



Series: G.I. Joe Season 3, Sunbowverse. [3]
Category: G.I. Joe (Cartoon)
Genre: ARAH, F/M, Sunbow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-30
Updated: 2007-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-02 23:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Eyebrow/pseuds/White_Eyebrow
Summary: To find out if Hawk is stealing from the public coffers, Jinx has to go back to the beginning. In the process she may find that everyone has skeletons in their closet.Season 3, Episode 2.0





	1. Grasshopper

GI JOE Season 3: episode 2

"Invincible Shield"

GI JOE Headquarters – November 1, 1989

_...tick...tick...tick...tick..._

The sound of the wall-clock had become deafening as the hours droned on for the finance clerk. Only the scratching of her pencil, as it glided across the form, provided relief. She cursed when the tip of her lead broke. She retrieved the sharpener from her desk drawer. A katydid crawled along the windowsill across the room. She turned the pencil against the blade and regarded the bug moving back-and-forth across the ledge of the open window. A smile came across her face. The blade of the sharpener, the chirping of the katydid and the ticking of the wall-clock made for a unique harmony: a harmony uniquely appreciated by boredom. She reached into her desk again and retrieved a rubber band. She stretched the band between her thumb and index finger and took aim; the projectile shot across the room, knocking the unsuspecting bug out of the window. It then deflected off the pane and ricocheted back across the room and into the clerk's waiting hand. She replaced the rubber band and finished sharpening her pencil.

_...tick...tick...tick...tick..._

It was a welcome distraction, but she was eager to get back to her reports: not for the sake of the paperwork, but rather as refuge from the quiet din that putting pencil to paper offered. Given the choice, she would much rather be going through one of Sgt. Slaughter's all-day PT sessions. She finished the last page, signed it and stamped it with a sense of accomplishment. Placing it in her out-box, she glanced at the wall clock. _Three hours..._ She referred to her wristwatch to confirm that the time was accurate and that the second hand was indeed moving in proper one-second intervals, and in defeat, rested her chin in her hands and sighed, blowing back a tuft of hair that had fallen in her eye.

_...tick...tick...tick...tick..._

In the interim, she decided to re-organize her desk – again. Unfortunately, everything was already in place and could not be optimized further. She lazily flicked her nameplate at the front of her desk, setting it slightly askew. She picked up the plaque and wiped the dust off with her sleeve. Her fingertip traced the outline of the letters that spelled her name:

CPL. KIMIKO AKAMATSU

It was a designation indicative of the formal atmosphere exercised in the office where she now worked. Given the choice, she preferred to be called by her code name:

"Jinx!"

Startled, Jinx looked up from her nameplate to see Amy, the office manager, struggling with boxes of office supplies. Jinx's muscles tensed, and she bolted from her desk. She moved swiftly to the counter that separated her from Amy. Her body, hungry for exertion, involuntarily vaulted over the counter with undue vigor. She landed, effortlessly, next to Amy and caught a box of toner that fell from Amy's arms inches before it hit the floor.

Amy blinked. "I... uh... thanks."

"You're welcome," Jinx replied, and she placed the toner on the counter-top. She blushed when she saw Amy's reaction to her acrobatics and added, "Girl Scouts."

"Oh." Visibly satisfied with the explanation, Amy placed her box next to the toner on the counter.

"You shouldn't try to carry so much at one time."

"You're right," Amy replied. "But, you know Lt. Jenkins' philosophy about being efficient." She opened the box and pulled out a stack of envelopes. "I've just been swamped today, and I still have to mail out these disbursements."

Jinx raised a thoughtful eyebrow as Amy thumbed through envelopes. "Er... why don't you let me deliver those for you?"

"I don't want you to go through all that trouble."

"No trouble at all," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I have to go to Hawks office anyway... efficiency, right?"

"Right," Amy said. She smiled in appreciation and handed Jinx the envelopes with a delivery log.

Jinx collected the rest of the paperwork in her out-box and made her way to the exit. She was careful to keep an outward appearance of indifference; inwardly, however, she was glad to get out of the office for a change. When she opened the door to leave, she made sure to close it quietly behind her so as not to draw attention from Lt. Jenkins, whose office was situated near the exit. It wasn't because what she was doing was dishonest, but rather because she wasn't prepared to justify leaving her desk in the middle of the workday to run ancillary errands. The door closed without a sound. She released the doorknob slowly and the latch engaged with a quiet but audible 'click'. She looked through the frosted pane to see if anyone inside had noticed her departure. Her eyes focused on the letterhead printed on the glass:

Special Branch - 261st Finance Brigade

Satisfied, she made her way down the hall and to the elevators leading to the common area. If she planned her route just right, she could kill up to an hour before being missed. She let out a sigh as she let her thoughts wander, content like the locust on the windowsill.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Jinx left the common area and walked outside on the path leading to building six, otherwise known as the Motor Pool. It was a bright and sunny day, and Jinx looked skyward to take in the warmth of the sun. The administrative offices were kept at a nippy sixty-five degrees, so the heat of the day made for a comfortable transition. Further along the path, she noticed that Mutt and his guard dog, Junkyard, where approaching. They passed each other, and she gave a nod. She was put off when Mutt returned her greeting with a glare. Jinx shuddered and gripped the clipboard she was carrying tighter to her chest when she heard a menacing growl as they parted ways. She couldn't tell if the growl came from the man or the dog. She continued on to the motor pool; the warmth of the desert sun was starting to cause beads of sweat to form on her brow.

Jinx opened the entrance to building six, and went directly to Cover Girl's office. It was no surprise that Cover Girl wasn't there: anyone who's done a stint at the Motor Pool knew that Cover Girl spent most of her time in the garage. The corridors of building six, like the common area, were sparsely populated. As she walked the halls on the way to the garage, she realized how much she missed working here. She passed a cork board when she turned the corner and paused to look at some of the pictures that were posted. The carefree camaraderie of the soldiers in the collage stood in stark contrast of the prim-and-proper atmosphere of the finance corps office. She was surprised to see that there was even a picture of _her_ standing in front of an old HAVOC – she never was able to get that junker to work. Above her picture, her eyes were drawn to a somewhat larger photo placed in a position on prominence in the center of the board. The three Joes in the photograph were posed lightheartedly standing in front of a MOBAT; presumably, the picture was taken right before a mission. According to the caption, the soldiers Clutch, Grunt, and Steeler are officially listed as MIA. However, from the short time she spent in the motor pool - amid the whisperings of her colleagues - she got the impression that the circumstance regarding their disappearances was more mysterious.

She continued lazily to the garage entrance just across the hall. Her eyes were still trained on the cork board, so she wasn't looking where she was going. She came to an abrupt stop when she bumped into something solid. At first she thought she walked into the wall, however, when she snapped her head forward, she saw that it was Roadblock. She gasped in surprise and dropped her clipboard. She felt embarrassed as it echoed loudly in the empty hallway when it struck the floor.

"Hello, Jinx." Roadblock retrieved the clipboard at his feet and handed it to her.

"Uh, hello, Staff Sergeant. Sir." She blushed as she took the proffered clipboard. _So much for my honed ninja reflexes._

"Just 'Roadblock' will do, kid," he said, with a reassuring smile, and he left.

She let out a sigh when he was out of earshot as it was odd running into the team's cook in the motor pool. She didn't bother to dwell on the incident further when she opened the garage door and was greeted by the familiar scent of motor oil and burnt rubber. She made her way up the main driveway, waving to the familiar faces of Cross Country, Heavy Metal and Crank Case. They all waved back, but gave her odd glances as they did so.

Jinx found Cover Girl busy working from the undercarriage of an AWE-Striker. She "coughed", and Cover Girl slid out from under the vehicle. The team's only female grease monkey removed the scarf tied around her head so as to unfetter her full auburn hair, allowing it to hang freely. Her face and coveralls where stained with grease and oil. If Jinx didn't know any better she would have thought that every spattering and every smear on her person was placed there by design. Only Cover Girl could pull off being imbued from head-to-toe in grime. That was just one of the many reasons why Jinx could not relate to the ex-model, that and the fact when Jinx had first came to work in the motor pool, Cover Girl, in her own way, made it clear that she was the alpha-female.

"Oh, hi, Jinx. I almost didn't recognize you in your DoD duds."

Jinx cursed inwardly. She had forgotten that since she had joined the finance corps, that she was required to wear the same black ACU's assigned to the rest of the support personnel. That explained everyone's odd behavior: they probably didn't recognize her at first. Being the last of the Rawhides, she had a hard enough time fitting in without having to contend with the stigma of being a DoD-wearing _Blacksuit._

"Can I help you?" Cover Girl asked, with her hands on her hips. She tapped her foot.

"Oh, sorry," Jinx replied, snapping out of her reverie. "I have a check for you." She handed her an envelope and the clipboard.

"This is a nice surprise. It's been so long; I've almost forgotten I had this coming." Cover Girl signed the clipboard and handed it back.

"'Reimbursement for damage waiver?'" Jinx said, reading the memo item on the clipboard. "Have you guys been taking the AWE-Strikers on joyrides again?" she asked with a grin.

"Of course not," Cover Girl replied, dismissively.

Jinx frowned. She meant her previous comment as a joke, but Cover Girl didn't seem receptive. "Well, sorry about the wait. We've been in the weeds."

"Not a problem. We've been running behind schedule ourselves." She took off her gloves and placed them on a nearby worktable before wiping her face off with a towel. "We have until the end of the month to finish de-milling our surplus vehicles before carting them off to Sierra Army Depot."

"Oh? Do you guys need a hand? I have some free time after my shift—"

"No, that won't be necessary." Cover Girl turned her back, sorting through the wrenches in her toolbox. "We've got it covered."

Jinx, interpreting Cover Girl's curt response as rejection, left without addressing her further, her anger increasing with each step she took, reminded of why the woman infuriated her so. She was so upset that she gave no regard to the rest of the staff as they waved good-bye to her.

Upon leaving building six, Jinx headed for the training hall on the other side of the base. The heat of the afternoon sun wasn't as pleasant for her as it was the first time around. She wasn't following the most efficient route by delivering to Beach Head next, but she wasn't exactly in a hurry.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

"Alright, you mute maggot! You've had this a long time coming!"

Snake-Eyes and Sgt. Slaughter circled each other. The soft mat that both men tread on creaked quietly under their feet. The combatants dug in and squared off. Slaughter stood with a modified kickboxing stance: his weight was evenly distributed on both feet, his arms were outstretched at mid-length, and his hands were slightly cupped palm-downward. Snake-Eyes, on the other hand, stood relaxed – employing no obvious technique; his arms were hanging at his sides and swayed as if caught in a breeze.

Slaughter rushed him, closing the gap with ferocious speed. He got closer and closer until... he abruptly stopped. The men were now standing less than two feet apart – the air between them was electric. Slaughter betrayed a grin of approval: when a man of his size charges, most fighters either make a mistake by reacting too quickly or by retreating in panic. Snake-Eyes did neither.

Slaughter knew, of course, that Snake-Eyes was waiting for him to attack.

Since both men knew how this was going to start, that made for a simple equation: attack faster than your opponent can react. In this regard, Slaughter did not disappoint. He threw a blindingly fast lunge punch aimed for Snake-Eyes' chest.

Snake-Eyes shifted on the heels of his feet, turning his torso at a slight angle. The movement was hardly perceptible, but sufficient to bypass most of the force. Before Slaughter could recoil his arm, Snake-Eyes dropped into a low stance as he entered toward Slaughter's exposed side, leaning under the punch to deliver an elbow to the marine's ribs.

Slaughter stumbled backward. By the time the strike registered, Snake-Eyes was out of range. Slaughter smiled, stood tall, and let loose a long protracted battle cry: the dance had begun. Slaughter came at Snake-Eyes without further pretense.

Snake-Eyes gave as good as he got; both men held nothing back. Slaughter set the pace of the fight by raining down an unending hail of punches and kicks: eventually one of them was bound to get through. When that happened, Slaughter would go in for the kill.

Snake-Eyes was forced to go on the defensive by either dodging or deflecting Slaughter's attacks. The punches that he managed to sneak in merely bounced off Slaughter's dense musculature. The only thing that kept Slaughter at bay was the occasional well-placed fingertip strike to a vital nerve cluster that would easily drop a normal man.

As the minutes passed, a stalemate was reached. Slaughter was unable to get past Snake-Eyes' defenses, and Snake-Eyes' attacks were likewise ineffective.

Something had to change. Slaughter raised both arms high, like a charging bear, and rushed Snake-Eyes with his torso exposed. As he hoped, Snake-Eyes found it too tempting a target to ignore and delivered a sidekick to Slaughter's open mid-section. In anticipation of the attack, Slaughter bore down and engaged every muscle in his torso. Upon impact, he exhaled and bucked his hips forward to push the force of the kick back to its point of origin.

When Snake-Eyes stumbled backwards off-balance, Slaughter saw the opening he needed. He knelt, digging his fingers in the matting, and pulled it out from under Snake-Eyes' feet. Instinctively, Snake-Eyes did a back flip just before the jerk of the matting would have compromised his footing. He alighted to his feet on the now exposed hardwood flooring, but Slaughter kept the pressure on by tackling him before he could square off into a stable stance.

As they fell, Snake-Eyes twisted in mid-air to keep from being sandwiched between the hard floor and 230 pounds of meat. Both men crashed on their sides and rolled to their feet, but Slaughter managed to grab a hold of Snake-Eyes' arm, and he began to crank it at the wrist. Snake-Eyes dropped into an extremely low and exotic-looking stance with his free hand outstretched perpendicular with respect to Slaughter.

And he hissed.

In an uncharacteristic display of force, Snake-Eye turned into his shoulder and tried to wrestle his arm free. In response, Slaughter re-asserted his grip and supinated the arm completely at the shoulder. Snake-Eye's arm was hyper-extended to its limit. Muscles and tendons strained; bone grinded against bone. Slaughter continued to crank the arm harder until...

_TAP...TAP...TAP_

Snake-Eyes gave the signal of submission by tapping the ground with his free hand. Slaughter immediately released the pressure and helped Snake-Eyes to his feet. The training hall was suddenly in an uproar – it looked like half the Joes on base showed up to watch the fight. Those that didn't cheer boo'ed loudly.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" Slaughter said. He gave his training partner a slap on the back, "Thanks for the workout Snakes."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Jinx had entered the training hall just before the fight and was watching in a remote corner when it began. This was the first time she had seen Snake-Eyes in action, and by all accounts, the rumors she heard of his prowess in battle were true. However, the outcome of the match left her confused. She decided to ponder the details of the fight later when she caught a glimpse of Beach Head on the other side of the hall. She followed him out of the room. Slaughter's booming voice could still be heard echoing from the hallway outside:

"Okay, which one you maggots is next?... C'mon you all have to go through me to pass your hand-to-hand... You think I'm too hard? That's nuthin' compared to what Cobra's gonna do to ya!... You there, Lifeline! I see you there hiding behind Lady-Jaye! Come here, milksop!"

Jinx had since lost sight of Beach Head and quickened her pace. When she rounded a corner, she heard voices coming from across the corridor and decided to investigate. She came across a group of Joes congregated in the lounge. Amid the gathering, seated at a table, was Ace counting a stack of money. When she walked in, a hush fell over the crowd as they all stopped to look at her. She smiled nervously, and they eventually went back to what they were doing, but kept their voices low. On a TV screen in the corner of the room, she could see live video broadcasted from the training room. It dawned on her that someone spliced into the security camera feed; she was relieved to see that Slaughter was taking it easy on Lifeline. She didn't know the names of most of the Joes huddled around Ace, but she did recognize Slaughter's Renegades: Taurus, Red Dog, and Mercer.

"Here you scurvy crop-duster," Shipwreck said, throwing a pile of crumpled bills at Ace. "I hope you choke on it!"

"It's all good, Hector," Ace said. He bent down to pick up the money that had fallen on the floor and proceeded to straighten them out into a neat stack. "I'm never too proud to take money from a swabbie."

"That's what happens when you bet on a loser," said Taurus, waving his winnings in Shipwreck's face.

"Watch your mouth, baldy," Shipwreck spat back. "Sgt. Slaughter wouldn't've won if he hadn't cheated!"

"What do you mean _cheated_?" said Red Dog. "The Sarge's hand-to-hand is unmatched."

"I wouldn't expect _you_ know about fair play Red Dog," Shipwreck countered. "You weren't known for that when you were in the NFL either."

Jinx looked on as Shipwreck was now almost nose-to-nose with Red Dog. When she was dating Falcon, she heard stories of the Renegade's ruthlessness in battle – with Red Dog being the worst of the lot. She figured that the only thing keeping him from tearing into Shipwreck was the fact that a large bare-chested marine and a chopper pilot with a cowboy hat were standing behind the sailor. Similarly, Taurus had Red Dog's back, however, Mercer, the third Renegade, was sitting quietly on a sofa, listening with curiosity, but opting not to take part in the "discussion".

"...And since when does a ninja fight fair?" said Red Dog. "It's not hard to win when you hide in the shadows to slit your enemy's throat while he's sleeping."

Shipwreck snorted. "Tell me something, Red... Is Slaughter the big spoon or the little spoon?"

"Neither. Your mother sleeps between us!"

"Listen, my friend, it's not like we're calling him a 'sissy-boy'," said Taurus. He kept himself between Shipwreck and Red Dog in a placatory gesture. "All were saying is, all that ninja hocus-pocus is fine for the dojo, but in a real fight it's nothing special..."

Jinx had become bored with all the machismo. It was obvious that Beach Head was not here, so she decided it was time to look elsewhere.

After some wandering, she eventually tracked down Beach Head standing outside the men's locker room. She was about to approach when she saw Snake-Eyes exit the locker room. When Beach Head turned to face him, it became obvious to her that he had been waiting for him. As a result, she decided it would be prudent not to disturb them and stayed back at a discreet distance.

"Hey, I wanna talk to you."

Snake-Eyes stopped to regard Beach Head, and he started to sign. Jinx didn't understand sign language herself, but saw that it wasn't a problem for Beach Head.

"This won't take long. I see that Hawk has renewed your contract, against my better judgment. The old man has always had a soft spot for you, and I never understood why."

"..."

"Be that as it may, now that Flint is the Chief, that means _I_ will be overseeing the majority of the field missions. I want to make sure we have an understanding."

"..."

"For starters, let's talk about you throwing that fight with Slaughter..."

Jinx, felt her heart skip a beat when she heard Beach Head's accusation, thus confirming her suspicion. During his match with Sgt. Slaughter, she could tell from his movements and the techniques used that Snake-Eyes was in full control the entire time, passing up obvious avenues of attack in favor of maintaining a stalemate. What surprised her more, however, was the fact that _Beach Head_ picked up on this as well. She was impressed with his adeptness and now saw him in a new light.

"Passing your hand-to-hand is not the point. The point is that you bring that same mentality of 'holding back' to the battlefield. Why?"

"..."

"Not wanting to kill in cold blood is one thing, but showing mercy to an enemy that will not stop until he kills you is just plain stupid."

"..."

"I realize that smart-ass! The difference with Lifeline is that he's at least honest about it: I know where I stand with him. You, on the other hand, need to either shit or get off the pot!"

"..."

"Well, if you're on a solo mission, where it's only _your_ ass on the line, then feel free. But, if you ever come under my command and I see that your antics put the team in danger, I will bench you."

Beach Head spun around and walked away, any rejoinder on Snake-Eyes' part would fall on deaf ears. The 'conversation' ended so abruptly, that Jinx didn't have time to hide the fact that she had been eavesdropping.

"Jinx, don't you have something better to do?" Beach Head said as he approached.

"As a matter of fact, I've been looking for you." She handed him his check.

"Housing Allowance," he said, reading the memo aloud. He took the clipboard and signed it. "Are you bean-counters pinching stamps now?"

Jinx rolled her eyes. "Mail it? And miss out on the opportunity to bask in your sunshine, Master Sergeant?"

Beach Head crossed his arms and stared her down. "Carry on, _corporal._ "

Jinx, hugging her clipboard, left, smiling in satisfaction.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

The last stop on Jinx's route was General Hawk's office. She wasn't particularly looking forward to it, yet found the resolve to draw in a deep breath and knock.

"Come."

She entered Hawk's office and stood at attention. She kept her head facing forward, but allowed her eyes to wander. The last time she stood in his office was not a pleasant memory for her, being reprimanded alongside Falcon. Standing in the same spot a year later brought back those same feelings of anxiety.

Hawk had his head buried in paperwork from the moment she walked in. He was aware of her presence, but he did not acknowledge her. Jinx continued to stand at perfect attention: the only movement she allowed herself was the involuntary blinking of her eyelids and the subtle rising and falling of her chest. Perhaps boredom isn't such a bad thing after all.

_...tick...tick...tick...tick..._

"You have something for me, corporal?"

"Yes, General," she handed over the report.

Hawk looked it over briefly and grimaced. He rose, walked over to his file cabinet and retrieved a single manila folder.

"Please return this to Lt. Jenkins when you get back to Finance." He handed her the folder and returned to his desk, "Dismissed."

Jinx saluted, did an 'about-face' and left the office all according to regulation. The etiquette that she was taught in the dojo since childhood served her well in the Army. She felt more relaxed now that it was over. In the reception area, on her way out, she met Snake-Eyes who was waiting to go in next. As they passed each other, Jinx could feel the aura of his _Qi_ as it collided with hers. She was compelled to stop as the energy inundated her being: it felt like her skin was on pins and needles.

_Does he feel it too?_

Her heart racing, she turned to face him. His Qi rivaled, if not surpassed, that of her mentor Blind Master, and it pounded her soul like waves crashing on a seashore. However, not once did he pause. The door closed, yet she remained: Ninja etiquette did not teach her to abstain from eavesdropping.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Snake-Eyes entered Hawk's office and stood in front of his desk. Hawk was standing with his back to him as he stared out of his office window onto the grounds below. He had a single envelope gripped tightly in his left hand. He drew the blinds, but continued to stare through them as if they were transparent.

"As I recall, I made a promise to you before bringing you into this unit. I stand with you today, in this office, to fulfill that promise."

He took his time proffering the unassuming envelope. "We've found him."

Snake-Eyes opened it: Inside was a satellite map and a picture of a man. Snake-Eyes' features were hidden behind his permanent mask, but the hiss he let out was telling of the expression he must have had upon seeing the photograph.

"I kept telling myself that I was doing you a favor when I asked you to join GI Joe. I knew you wouldn't refuse because deep down you feel just as responsible as I do about that last day in Saigon. However, I also hoped that bringing you back on a team – giving you a sense of purpose – would eventually fix whatever broke inside you. If I knew back then that we would be having this conversation ten years after the fact, I never would have lied to the Army for you."

Snake-Eyes ignored Hawk, never once taking his eyes off the picture. Hawk finally got the ninja's attention by carefully placing his hand on his shoulder.

"For your sake, I beg you to stop chasing after ghosts."

Snake-Eyes regarded Hawk. The fist he made in response served to mangle the picture along with the visage of the man therein. He stormed out of the office.

Hawk shook his head and lamented.


	2. Despair

 

Ben Hoa AFB, Vietnam – April 9, 1975

Sergeant First Class Conrad Hauser was awakened by a sudden jolt. He didn't mean to fall asleep, but the rhythmic meter of the rotor blades was unexpectedly soothing. He looked outside the window of the Huey and saw that they were flying relatively low; he could track the helicopter's shadow against a background of fast moving foliage.

"Sorry about the bump, Boss. We're on final approach to _Ben Hoa_. We should be landing in five," said the chopper pilot.

It was the first time the Sergeant took notice of the pilot since he picked him up from the USS Kitty Hawk. He always wondered whether chopper pilots were born ostentatious, or if it was a prerequisite of the job. This one, in particular, spoke with a southern drawl sporting a bushy mustache and a cowboy hat.

"Mind if I smoke, Tex?"

"No, Boss."

"Stow that 'Boss' shit. Call me Duke."

The pilot regarded him. "They call me Wild Bill."

Duke nodded in reply and pulled a stogie from his lapel pocket. He lit the cigar and inhaled that first smooth drag. He held it in until he felt the familiar dull sting of the smoke as it burned his lungs. At one time he thought he had kicked the habit. As he got closer inland, however, he was reminded why he started in the first place: Vietnam always had a smell that he could never stand. It was a stench that defied description; he agonized to find an appropriate word to describe it. It wasn't until his last tour of duty ended, and with much introspection, that he was able to give it a name: _despair_. Only the sweet stink of tobacco numbed his senses sufficiently to mask it.

When the chopper landed he grabbed his gear and disembarked. Once he was out from under the vortex of the rotors, he stood up straight and took another drag from his stogie as he regarded the haze in the air. At first, he thought it was the smoke from his cigar irritating his eyes. But when he threw it on the ground and stamped it out, the haze persisted. His rational mind told him it was pollution from the vapors of the aircraft taking off and landing nearby. However, he couldn't help but feel that the stench of despair had now taken physical form and was now starting to congeal around him. He took in a breath, tasted the air, then immediately spat on the ground – as if despair could be rejected so easily. He looked skyward and prayed as he breathed in deeply to embrace it. _God Bless America._

"Sergeant First Class Hauser?"

Duke's head snapped in the direction of the voice. A stern-looking soldier had just pulled up in a jeep. The soldier yanked the parking brake and hopped out. He had jet-black hair that was just starting to grey at the temples. When Duke saw the War Eagle on the soldier's collar, he stood at attention and saluted.

The soldier returned his salute, ordered him at ease and took his papers. "I'm Colonel Abernathy, welcome back to Vietnam, soldier."

Duke packed his gear and the two headed off in the jeep.

"Colonel Abernathy—"

"Call me Hawk."

"Colonel Hawk, have your men been briefed on my assignment?"

"I reserved that privilege for you." Hawk eyed Duke suspiciously. "I trust your CO has made you aware of the sensitive nature of my _Kilo Company_?"

"I'm aware of the basics: that K Company is under a modified Table of Organization. On paper, as far as the press is concerned, you're regular Army – non-combatants stationed here as advisors. Unofficially, you're Long Range Recon – specialists in Snatch-and-Sniff operations."

"Which is why, I imagine, the Defense Intelligence Agency requires our services?"

"I'm sorry your unit got dragged into this, Colonel, especially since the war is all but over."

Hawk grinned. "I can't blame central command for not wanting to leave this to the Jarheads."

"Hooah." Duke was relieved to see his new CO had a sense of humor.

They arrived at the command bunker. Hawk and Duke exited the vehicle and went in through the main entrance. On the way to Hawk's office, a tall imposing soldier met them. His countenance was that of a seasoned veteran; something rattled in his hand. Hawk introduced him as Snake-Eyes.

"The men are assembled and ready to be briefed, Colonel Hawk," said Snake-Eyes.

Hawk dismissed them, and they left. The two command Sergeants walked side-by-side in silence, until Snake-Eyes happened to glance at the wings on Duke's collar.

"Airborne, I see. What're you doing slumming down here?"

"I'm no _shake n' bake,_ if that's what you're worried about," Duke replied sharply. "Besides, I did a stint at Ft. Benning, so I know the drill."

Snake-Eyes snorted. "That don't make you no Ranger _,_ boy." He casually continued to rattle whatever was inside his palm. "I'm only asking because I've read about that stunt you pulled during Tet. I figured the Brass would've offered you a commission instead of shipping you back here."

"I turned it down," Duke said, keeping his eyes looking forward.

"Like being a bullet sponge, do ya?"

"For the same reason I entered as an enlisted: It is my understanding that an officer's job is to impel others to take the risks so that the officer gets the privilege of surviving to take the blame in the event of a total catastrophe... If that's true, then I don't want any part of it."

Snake-Eyes snorted. "Well, don't expect anybody here to drop their panties for you just yet. You gotta be willing to chew dirt to make it out here."

"Good thing I brought along my toothbrush."

They arrived at the briefing room. The grunts remained seated and barely took notice at first. However, they all snapped to when Snake-Eyes spoke and introductions were made. Duke was accustomed to the practice of grunts adopting nicknames in small units such as this, so he made it a point to memorize the faces to the names as they sounded off: Rock n' Roll was the team's machine gunner, Zap handled demolitions, Stalker was the sniper, and Preacher was the linguist.

Snake-Eyes began the briefing. "Men, I have some good news, and I have some bad news," he bellowed. "The good news is, within the next few days the rest of the covert-ops units will start pulling out of Vietnam. That means for 99.9 percent of us, the war is over."

Upon hearing this, the soldiers cheered and started high-fiving each other. Snake-Eyes waited until a reasonable decorum had returned.

"The bad new is Rangers live on the margins. Therefore, you will _not_ be a part of that 99.9 percent. We are going back into _The Suck_ one more time."

The room was silent. When it was clear that Snake-Eyes was serious, the cheering was replaced by curses – in three different languages. Snake-Eyes let his men vent as he motioned for Duke to come over, as if to say, _they're all yours._ Duke took his place as the presenter while Snake-Eyes retired to the back of the room to operate a projector. The room was quiet once again when the lights went down and the projector came on. An image of a man in a steel mask flashed on the screen and Duke began:

"This is Destro. He is _the_ premier underground weapons supplier on the planet. It is believed that he has worked as a go-between with the Russians and the Chinese, so chances are he's kissed every bullet that the Doc has had to dig out of each and every one of our sorry asses."

With a click of the projector, the next slide showed a topographical map of Saigon.

"As you know, in anticipation of Northern aggression, Pacific Command is going to step up the helicopter evacs. The Marines are going to cover the withdrawal; however, the DIA has learned that elite VC death squads are going to start inserting themselves into key areas and take out as many choppers as they can during take-off. It's their way of saying, 'don't let the doorknob hit you'. That, gentlemen, is unacceptable."

"So, why not let the jarheads deal with it?" said Rock n' Roll.

"The VC are going to be equipped with state-of-art long-range shoulder-mounted heat seekers supplied by Destro. Our ground forces won't be equipped to deal with that kind of mobility and firepower. That's where we come in."

The projector clicked. It was another map.

"The DIA has been tracking Destro's movements for months. There appears to be a pattern and we think the arms are going to be shipped here," Duke said, pointing to the area marked on the map. "Unfortunately, with the advancement of the Vietcong, that puts this area well behind enemy lines. You guys are the only _lurps_ that have logged any significant hours in this region. You should be familiar enough with the land to get in and out undetected."

"We're familiar with it all right," said Zap. "It's a jungle-rot, leech-infested cesspool."

"Yea," Stalker confirmed. "Reminds me of Zap's mom."

The rest of the men burst into laughter. Zap wadded up a sheet of paper and threw it at Stalker, hitting him square on the forehead.

"Stow it, ladies," Snake-Eyes barked, though he had a grin on his face.

"Our orders are simple," Duke continued, "Stop the arms shipment from going down and apprehend Destro."

Preacher snorted. "Holy shit... would you like a side of _fries_ with that?"

"I said _stow it,_ Preacher!"

"You guys specialize in POW extraction, this won't be any different," Duke replied. "We're set to leave before dawn; we're going in by slick _."_ The lights came back on. "Are there any questions?"

Preacher raised his hand, and Duke nodded. "Why do you keep saying 'we'?"

"Because, I'm coming with you," Duke answered, and before they could respond in protest, he added, "I'm not here to step on anyone's toes. Snake-Eyes is in charge of getting us in and out. My job is to provide on site intel."

Preacher snorted. "Well, Boss, seeing as how you're now part of the team, what's your handle?"

"You can call me Duke."

Preacher smiled. "Welcome aboard... _pilgrim."_

Once again, the room was filled with laughter as Preacher's _John Wayne_ impression was spot-on. Duke regarded his new team of misfits: from reading their service records, he never would have thought that this undisciplined lot was deserving of all the commendations they had earned as a group. They were brash, raw, and disrespectful to authority.

He smiled. _They're perfect._

Saigon, Vietnam

Cholon district

The soldiers of K Company rode into town. They parked at the entrance of a crowded business district. There were so many people crowding the streets that it was faster to disembark their vehicle and negotiate the busy plaza on foot. Every sidewalk corner had a string of street merchants selling various wares. The majority of the buildings resembled pagodas, and most of the billboards and other advertisements were written in Chinese.

"This place looks more like Chinatown than Vietnam," said Duke, taking notice of the surrounding architecture of the bustling market place.

"That's because it _is_ Chinatown, Vietnam's version of it anyway," Stalker replied.

"Saigon has a significant Chinese population, most of them live here," Preacher added.

"I can't tell the difference, myself," Rock n' Roll said under his breath.

Zap nodded. "Amen to that, brother."

A group of children, presumably orphans, approached them, holding out their hands. Duke searched his pockets for spare change, but a nearby merchant shooed them away with her broom.

"So, tell me why you grunts are dragging me along on this field trip?" asked Duke.

"Tradition," Snake-Eyes answered. "Since K Company was put together, we haven't failed a mission or lost a soldier. That's why every mission is done _by the numbers_. And part of our pre-mission ritual is a last meal at the best Chinese bistro outside of China."

Duke lit a fresh stogie. "I didn't figure you lurps were the superstitious type."

"Its hard _not_ to be with the suckage we've seen," said Stalker.

Zap nudged Duke in the ribs. "You know, Duke, part of that ritual says that the new guy pays." Duke blew smoke in his face.

Preacher broke away from the group, his attention directed toward a sidewalk vendor selling flowers. He picked out a Lotus that stood out prominently from the other flowers on display. Duke took notice as Preacher conversed with the vendor in an odd language. He paid her and rejoined the group.

"Oh, Preacher, you shouldn't have," said Zap, in a mockingly feminine voice. He leaned in to smell the flower.

"It's not for you." Preacher pushed him away. "A man never knows when he'll be presented with an opportunity to woo a pretty girl with a flower."

"Hmm..." Stalker rubbed his chin. "Maybe we should all go in on a bouquet for Zap's mom next time?"

Rock n' Roll smiled. "Zap's mom only takes cash."

 _"Que Pendejo!_ Why is it always _my_ mom?"

They arrived at the restaurant. An attractive hostess wearing a pink and cerulean dress greeted them. She had long hair that was tied up into a style resembling a French braid. Preacher pushed to the front of the group and started conversing with her casually.

Duke's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be the only one that noticed Preacher handing the woman an envelope. He didn't understand what they were saying, but their manner of speech seemed to be informal – as with the flower vendor. They took their seats, at their usual table, and were served appetizers.

Duke's curiosity eventually got the better of him. "Preacher, what language is that you've been speaking?"

Preacher eyed Duke over the top of the menu, "Why?"

"I'm familiar with most Southeast Asian dialects. I thought I'd heard them all until today."

Preacher shrugged dismissively. "I don't think it has a name."

Duke was about to press the issue, when young a girl ran up to Preacher and hopped into his lap. Her eyes lit up when she smiled; her front two teeth hadn't come in yet, so she spoke with a lisp when she spoke to Preacher in that same odd dialect. Preacher reached into his bag and pulled out the Lotus he had purchased earlier. The little girl giggled, and he pinned the flower in her hair.

From across the restaurant, an old man, who appeared to be the proprietor, called out to the little girl from the kitchen. The child did not respond, so the hostess came by and retrieved the little girl by the hand. The girl frowned, but was allowed to wave goodbye. The old man picked up the little girl and returned to the kitchen, but not before glaring angrily in the soldiers' direction.


	3. Blowback

 

GI JOE Headquarters – November 2, 1989

Jinx enjoyed the walk from the mess hall. Roadblock outdid himself for breakfast, and the meal put her in good spirits. She swiped her badge and entered the common area, making her way to the south corner elevator that would take her to the administrative wing. The elevator doors slowly opened; Jinx hesitated to enter when she noticed that Snake-Eyes was already in the car. She cautiously went inside and stood next to him as the doors came to a close.

They stood in silence. The elevator rose with a jolt. This was the third time that Jinx had run into Snake-Eyes in as many days – she wondered if Karma was trying to tell her something. Since their last encounter, she employed meditative techniques to deaden certain areas of her brain that are receptive to Qi. She had always been Qi-sensitive, even by ninjutsu standards, and was taught by her blind Ninja master on how to "tune-out" the natural life-energy emitted by those who are unusually adept, like white noise in a crowded room. Unfortunately, she had gotten out of practice since joining the army because she didn't need it, not until yesterday when she walked past Snake-Eyes. She regarded him slyly, out of the corner of her eye.

"May I ask you something?"

Snake-Eyes closed the manila folder and turned in her direction.

"I saw your kumite session with Sgt. Slaughter yesterday. I noticed that you set into the _stalking-crane_ stance, although you did not follow through with your technique. I was wondering if you would teach me its implementation sometime?"

Snake-Eyes eyed her up-and-down briefly, and he started to sign at her.

Jinx frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Snake-Eyes stopped signing and let out a sigh of frustration. He took out a pen and a notepad that he kept in his back pocket. He wrote something on a sheet of paper and handed it to her. The elevator came to a stop. When the doors opened, he left her.

Jinx watched him up until the doors' close. The car jolted, and she unfolded the note. She was surprised to find that the writing was in Japanese. She took notice of the careful placement and penmanship of each Kanji on the page, remarkable given that it was done on the spur of the moment. Normally she would have been impressed – had she not had the presence of mind to translate the script:

YOU ARE NOT NINJA

In shock, she kept re-reading the line, just to make sure she did not misunderstand the context. The fact that it was conveyed in her native language made it that much more personal. She didn't even take notice when the elevator stopped on her floor:

"Hi, Jinx... are you getting off?"

Jinx looked up from the paper to see Amy waiting at the entrance. In a daze, she carefully folded the paper. She left the elevator, without acknowledging Amy and continued to the finance office. When she got there, she swung the door open and went inside, grasping the doorknob behind her. She stopped short of slamming the door. Instead, she closed her eyes, took in a few deep breaths and released the knob, allowing the airbrake to close the door quietly with a hiss.

"Akamatsu, in my office," Lt. Jenkins ordered.

 _What is it now?_ The day, that had started out so well, was quickly starting to take a nosedive.

Jinx entered the lieutenant's office and stood at attention. Jenkins ordered her at ease and told her to sit.

"I've been reviewing your service record," he said. "It's easy to see why you were selected for GI Joe. I notice that your specialty is counter-intelligence. So, what are you doing here?"

"Because finance is my secondary, sir."

"Yes, I saw that in your file. It's an odd choice given your background."

"Frankly, sir, I wanted an easy secondary to fall back on."

"So, I take it you don't find Finance particularly challenging?"

"No, just tedious." Given her mood, she realized too late that her response might have come across more brazen than she intended. Fortunately, Lt. Jenkins was the type that appreciated honesty.

"Hopefully, in time, you'll come to have a different outlook." He continued to read her file, "You graduated at the top of your class. Yet you've been shuffled between infantry and the motor pool before finally ending up down here. True to fashion, the general doesn't know how to manage his assets efficiently."

"I'm just paying my dues, sir."

"If there's one thing I hate is _waste_. It's past time you got your feet wet." He handed her a document.

She took the proffered document. Her brow furrowed when she read it. "This is an audit. You're going to _audit_ General Hawk?"

"No," Jenkins responded, " _you're_ going to audit General Hawk."

Jinx looked up from the document in surprise, "with all due respect sir. Wouldn't that be a conflict of interest? I mean, General Hawk is my CO."

"So what?"

"I... don't feel comfortable investigating him."

"Such loyalty is commendable... by the way; this _is_ the same General Hawk that busted you down to c _orporal_ , correct?" Jinx lowered her eyes, and he sneered. "Of course, if you don't think you're up to the task, I'll assign it someone else. Although I can't say I won't be disappointed; I would've thought your first loyalty would've been to the United States Army."

Several seconds passed before Jinx responded, "If I may ask, what prompted this audit?"

"Last year, Hawk took in bids to build a Wellness and Morale center on-base. The winning bid was ten million dollars, but the deal fell through. The books balanced, but I was never able to find a paper trail for the money put up for the bid. I was going to write the incident off, but in going over the books for this year's budget, a line item for the requisition of a new fleet of attack vehicles caught my attention. Do you care to guess how much the requisition is for?"

"Ten million dollars?"

"Correct."

"So, you think Hawk has been inflating the budget in order to _park_ ten million dollars?"

"Correct."

"Why not take this to the Auditor General?"

"I don't want to go through normal channels as of yet. If the General is trying to hide funds from congress, then he's no doubt doctoring the books."

"Are we even allowed to do this?"

"Is _he_ allowed to park funds?"

"I don't think I'm the one you want for this assignment."

"Why is that?"

"Because I don't believe you."

He smiled, "that's why you're perfect for it."

She read over the document again, "I'll have to think about it."

"Don't take too long." The phone rang. Jenkins dismissed her.

She got up to leave and opened the door. Keeping her back to him she said, "What's to stop me from telling Hawk?"

"Nothing."

Jinx closed the door behind her.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

Shana Hauser looked through the peephole. The bright light from the late afternoon sun shining through the eyepiece momentarily blinded her green eyes. When they came into focus, she recognized the masked soldier who stood on her porch. With a smile on her lips, she opened the door and hugged her long-time friend.

"Snake-Eyes! Alison told me you were coming." she released her embrace. "Is it that serious?"

Snake-Eyes nodded. Shana took him by the arm and led him to the study.

She opened the door. The person inside sat with his back turned, staring blankly through the window. "Connie, you have a visitor."

When he heard his wife call his name, Duke reached for his cane rose from the seat. He looked much older that his years. Since he left GI Joe, he had lost a considerable amount of weight. The way he slumped over his cane belied his 6'2" frame. Wrinkles carved deep into his face and streaks of grey imbued his blond hair.

"Snakes, it's been a while." They shook hands. It was an awkward exchange, but genuine. "Let's go into the other room. It's not as cramped."

The three of them went to the den. Shana and Snake-Eyes sat on the couch while Duke went to the liquor cabinet. He offered a drink to Snake-Eyes while pouring himself a glass of J&B. He eased himself into his favorite leather chair across from the couch and took a sip. Snake-Eyes placed a picture on the coffee table.

Duke's eyes widened upon seeing the picture. He placed his drink down on the table and retrieved the photo The picture appeared mangled. "You're going after him?"

Snake-Eyes nodded.

"Where did Hawk get the intel on this?"

Snake-Eyes signed three distinct letters. Duke snorted in comprehension, and he turned to Shana, saying, "get me the box."

Shana left the room and momentarily came back with a small firebox. She set it on the coffee table, and Duke entered the combination. He pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it to Snake-Eyes.

"You were right to come to me first. I was ordered to burn this fifteen years ago. Fortunately, I decided to hang on to it in case there was any blowback. You're going to need this in order to bribe the officials that are protecting him." He picked his drink back up. "You better go; you don't have much time. They're probably already after him."

Snake-Eyes nodded and started for the door, leaving Shana with a confused expression on her face.

She headed him off. "Wait a minute, can't you at least stay for dinner? What's so important?"

Snake-Eyes shook his head as he took her hand and gently brushed her cheek with his fingers.

"Snakes," said Duke. "If it turns out that you can't bring him in, chop the Son of a Bitch's head off."

Snake-Eyes nodded and showed himself out. Shana returned to the couch, her arms folded, and regarded her husband with concern.

Duke knew what was on her mind. "He'll be fine." So, he changed the subject. "I heard Cobra has returned."

"Yea, me too," she said, averting her eyes to her wedding ring.

"You should go back. They'll need you. You could be Scarlet again."

"Let's _not_ have this argument... _again."_ She made note as Duke grabbed some pills from his pocket and popped them in his mouth. She waited until he pressed the glass to his lips. "The doctor said not to take those with alcohol."

"Yea, the doctor said a lot of things that turned out to be bullshit." He chased the pills with the J&B and retired to his study, leaving Scarlet alone on the couch.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

With a yawn, Cover Girl fumbled through her keys. It was a clear night, and the moon provided enough light for her to find the right key to unlock the service door going into building six. She closed the door behind her and activated her flashlight. There was something different about the motor pool at night: without the sound of car engines and the smell of exhaust, it felt alien to her.

When she got to the main garage, she turned on the power. The electric hum of the lights flickering overhead seemed louder at night. Cover Girl ventured further inside and cursed when she tripped the motion detector. She entered her code and the warning alarm quieted. She closed the panel and was startled by a strange shadow in the rafters. She aimed her flashlight overhead, but it revealed nothing. She rubbed her sleepy eyes. The intercom buzzed and she pushed the button:

"Cross-Country? Is that you?"

"Yeah."

"Hold on. I'll open the door."

The garage door creaked loudly. As soon as there was enough room, Cross-Country ducked under the opening.

She stretched. "It took you guys long enough to get back."

He handed her a notebook. "Hey, it's a long drive to Ft. Irwin. Do you have the 'de-milled' equipment ready or not?"

She read over the manifest briefly. "Yes." And she placed the notebook on her worktable. "Lets get this equipment swapped out."

By now, the garage door was fully open. Two transport trucks and a squad of regular army grunts waited outside. When Cross-Country gave the order, they proceeded to unload the transports. They worked quickly in silence, and in less than an hour, the exchange was made: two HAVOCs and four AWE-Strikers were offloaded and replaced with their de-milled versions. The grunts drove off with Cross-Country in the transports. The big door closed while Cover Girl examined the new equipment. She made a few notes, and her work was done. She armed the security system and turned off the lights. She left the way she came, carrying the manifest under her arm.

After a few minutes of stillness, a dark shadow descended from the rafters. A warning alarm sounded as the motion system detected the intruder. Like a blur, the figure moved swiftly to the control panel and entered the code. The intruder, dressed in a black body suit, walked about unchallenged, taking notice of the serial numbers of each of the vehicles. It left the garage and moved in silence to Cover Girl's office. It picked the lock and went inside. It took the manifest off the desk and read the documents in the notebook with care. Satisfied, the intruder picked up the phone on the desk and dialed:

"Jenkins here."

"It's Jinx."

"Akamatsu, do you have any idea what time it is? What do you want?"

"I'll do it."


	4. Juxtapositions

 

Vietnam – April 10, 1975

In the early morning hours, a Huey came up silently over the tree line of the black sky. The men of K Company rappelled off the chopper and immediately took cover in the tall grass. The chopper flew off, and the men fanned out, staying low to the ground as they penetrated the dense jungle. Once inside the safety of the trees, they advanced their position using a cross-cover formation.

Duke was impressed with the speed and efficiency with which the team moved. Rock n' Roll took point and Preacher brought up the rear to cover their tracks. No longer the brash grunts he met yesterday, they seemed to operate as one mind. Individual personalities where replaced by a group collective that communicated via hand-speak; not once did they break silence.

By sunrise, he reckoned they covered over six clicks. They settled in an open area of the forest littered with decaying logs. Beyond the edge of the tree line was a small ridge that was buffered by a marsh. He stayed hidden in the bush since the area had not yet been secured. The forest was deathly still—not even a breeze to sway the leaves.

The sweat dripping down Duke's face was thinning out his insect repellent. The quiet backdrop of the forest made the mosquitoes buzzing around his ear sound like 747's landing in his head. A bead of sweat dripped down from his forehead and landed in his eye—causing it to involuntarily snap shut from the sting. He wanted to move, but he resisted the temptation—detection could mean a death sentence out here. He scanned his surroundings with his good eye.

After a few minutes, Snake-Eyes stepped out of the bush and gave the _all clear_. The rest of the team stepped into the open. Duke took notice when Snake-Eyes signaled silently to Stalker, who then sprinted ahead out of sight. The rest of the unit sat down and took out their C-rations. Duke crouched next to Snake-Eyes and wiped his face.

"What kind of hand-speak is that you guys are bandying about?" Duke whispered.

"Standard Army signals mixed with good old-fashioned American Sign Language," said Snake-Eyes. "We pride ourselves on silence. It's saved our bacon more times than I can count."

"That's unorthodoxed... And all of your men just happened to know ASL?"

"No, but we had a good teacher." He then nodded in Preacher's direction.

"Ah, the linguist."

Breakfast was eaten in silence. By the time everyone was finished and packed, Stalker sprinted back into camp. He started to sign to Snake-Eyes, but the sergeant stopped him:

"Verbal reports for the benefit of our FNG," Snake-Eyes said.

Duke snorted.

"All's clear up ahead. But there's a village less that a click over the ridge," Stalker said.

"So what?" said Snake-Eyes.

"It's been razed."

"Why would Charlie waste a village?" said Zap.

"Sympathizers?" Rock n' Roll offered.

"That doesn't make any sense," Zap replied. "We're under a cease-fire; they've won and we're pulling out."

"And yet here _we_ are behind enemy lines," said Preacher.

"This is different."

"Why?"

"We can debate politics later," Snake-Eyes said, interrupting. "We need to get moving-"

"Wait a minute," said Duke. "It might not be a coincidence that we have a razed village on the way to Destro's meet-n-greet. I recommend we at least check it out."

Snake-Eyes looked to Stalker for an assessment:

"No threat of detection: whoever did it is long gone," Stalker said. "I agree with Duke, the tracks lead in the same direction that we're heading in. Its worth a closer look, if anything for a tactical assessment."

Snake-Eyes shrugged. "All right. It's your dime, Duke. Lets move out."

With Stalker now on point, the team made it to the village. They split up and inserted themselves at opposite ends to meet up in the middle of the square. Most of the huts were destroyed; amid the smoldering buildings lay the decaying bodies of the inhabitants. There was nothing left alive—not even the livestock.

Duke placed his boonie over his mouth and nose in order to filter the smell of burnt, rotting _despair_. He tried in vain not to breathe as he swatted at the flies who buzzed around angrily, caught up in the frenzy of the pestilence. He struggled to keep his attention focused on the task at hand, but humanity makes some things impossible to ignore. Pasty red mud caked his boots as he walked by corpse after corpse. Shell casings littered the ground. Not even the children were given quarter. His heart sank at the sight of the mangled appendage of an infant as it stuck out from behind its mother, who tried in vain to shield it with her body.

"This was an execution," said Rock n' Roll. He gripped his M60 tighter.

"No," Stalker said. He took off his boonie and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Sanitization."

"No matter how many times you see it, you never get used to the children," said Preacher.

"This ain't right, amigos." Zap kissed the crucifix tied around his neck. "I got a bad feeling about this one—"

"Let's keep it together, ladies," said Snake-Eyes. "I want two three-man teams: standard _search and clear_. Keep your ears on."

The team split up and searched the rest of the village. Duke teamed up with Preacher and Snake-Eyes. As they made their way to the edge of the village, Duke noticed that the ground was no longer red and mushy, although there were still bodies scattered around. There was a scavenger hovering over a dead girl; it attempted to gnaw off a foot that defiantly held on by a thin string of sinew. Duke kicked it, and the animal scampered off.

Preacher separated in order to sweep a clutch of empty huts, while Duke and Snake-Eyes continued to investigate along the main path.

"AK-47," Snake-Eyes said, holding up a shell casing he found on the ground. "Consistent with Vietcong ordnance."

Duke's brow furrowed at how Snakes-Eyes systematically inspected each of the dead bodies they came across. "Something wrong?"

Snake-Eyes nodded, knelt over one of the bodies and turned it over. "I've seen enough dead bodies to know that blood don't pool _upward_."

Duke grimaced. "You're talking about post-mortem lividity."

"Whoa, we got an Einstein here."

Duke curled his lip at the comment, but shrugged it off. "Now that you mention it, the ground isn't right either."

"Come again?"

"In the middle of town, the ground is saturated with blood, turning it into red clay. There's also an over-abundance of shell casings. There should be more bodies over there to justify that amount of saturation and gunfire. Everywhere else, the ground is dry, even though the distribution of bodies around the entire village looks random."

"So, you're trying to say the bodies were killed in a central location, and then moved outward." Snake-Eyes pursed his lips while he drew the obvious conclusion. "This whole area has been staged."

"Inviting the question: for whose benefit?"

"The more I think about this mission, the more I realize that it stinks."

"CHARLIE!"

Duke and Snake-Eyes' ran in the direction of Preacher's voice. They came upon five men armed with machetes advancing upon Preacher. Preacher held his ground and signaled for Snake-Eyes to stay back. Snake-Eyes obeyed and lowered his rifle.

"What are you doing?" said Duke, aiming his weapon.

Snake-Eyes motioned for Duke to stand down. "No, let him handle it."

"But, it's one against five—with machetes!"

"Yep," Snake-Eyes responded calmly. He retrieved something from his pocket, rattling it in his hand. "He'll let us know if he needs help."

Preacher discarded his gear so as not to be weighed down as he danced around, moving constantly, never allowing himself to become surrounded. When two of his attackers rushed him, he sidestepped and ducked certain death. He rolled past the next two attackers and engaged the last who he perceived to be the youngest and least experienced.

Grabbing the youth's sword-arm, he twisted behind him and used him as a shield against the other four. All the while he talked to them in a calm tone. After a tense exchange in Vietnamese, he released the boy. The attackers lowered their weapons just as the rest of the team came arrived. Cooler heads prevailed, and Preacher retrieved his gear.

"What was that all about?" said Snake-Eyes.

"Apparently, this isn't the only village that's been attacked," Preacher replied. "According to our... _welcoming party_ , everyone in the outlying hamlet is living in terror. These guys are part of an informal militia from a neighboring village that came to bury the dead."

"What can they tell us about the attackers," said Snake-Eyes. He motioned for Stalker to bring the map.

"By all accounts, it sounds like they were armed with Kalashnikovs and wore _Black Pajamas._ "

"VC guerrillas..." Snake-Eyes stroked his chin.

Stalker presented a map of the region. "Can they give us the locations of all the villages hit?"

Preacher, with the aid of the eldest militiaman, pointed out several areas that Stalker in turn plotted with a marker. When he finished, everyone stood around the map to get a look.

"Look at this," Stalker said, tracing an outline on the map with his finger. "These attacks follow a path that point straight to the weapons drop. We're going to have to abort."

"Why is that?" said Duke.

"We'll never be able to make it in time for the exchange: we have to move slower and stay off the trails with active guerrillas out there."

Duke looked at the plot. It seemed to veer around a bare area that led directly to their destination. He drew a line through the area, saying, "What if we take this shortcut?"

"No, that's no good," said Snake-Eyes. "There's a reason why the paths steer clear of this area: it's called The Badlands."

"Yeah, quicksand and crocs," Stalker added. "Not to mention it's a death-sentence if you get caught in a fire fight: it's littered with natural methane emissions."

Duke frowned. He then started talking to the militiaman in Vietnamese.

Preacher didn't seem to care for the exchange. "Are you insane?"

"What is it?" Snake-Eyes demanded.

"He said they can guide us through The Badlands," Duke replied.

"That's not what he said!" Preacher interjected.

"Look we don't have a choice!" Duke shot back. "The clock is ticking; if we drop the ball, central command doesn't get another chance. Now, those guys grew up here, and they can get us through. No one will expect a contingent coming out of the Badlands, so we'll have the advantage!"

Snake-Eyes gave a moment's pause. He rattled something in his hand, as was his habit, opened his palm and examined its contents. "Duke's right. Pack it up, ladies; we're hitting the Badlands."

K Company was under way in less than three minutes. The mood of the team had understandably changed since the grizzly village encounter. Having led many missions himself, Duke understood the importance that morale played in keeping the integrity of the unit. Although K Company was well trained, even the most battle-hardened soldiers could crack when confronted with such atrocities—coupled with the impending feeling of doom that even _he_ was not immune to. He knew that, as a leader, Snake-Eyes must be aware of this also, even if he didn't outwardly show his concern. Any good leader knows not only how to maintain discipline, but also how to foster morale.

"Preacher... give us some religion," said Snake-Eyes.

Confused by the request, Duke glanced over at Preacher who continued to walk in silence as if he had not heard the order. There was a Katydid crawling on Preacher's arm; he was content to allow it to crawl up to his shoulder where it jumped off on its own accord. Duke continued to watch as Preacher removed the reed that he had been chewing on, and he rolled it between his thumb and index finger.

Effortlessly, Preacher spoke:

 _...for we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God_ (1).

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

By dusk, the team had made it through most of the Badlands with little incident. The end in sight, the militiamen leading them went their separate ways with the team's gratitude. Stalker scouted ahead as the team broke out their C-rations for an evening repast.

Duke groaned as he sat down for the first time in hours. He was by no means out of shape; however, it had been a while since he put his body through such exertion. He closed his eyes and let himself drift...

He was jarred brusquely out of his reverie when something hard bounced off his forehead. He looked to the dice on the ground, then to their owner, Snake-Eyes, crouched behind a bush with his index finger to his lips, preemptively shushing him. Duke then looked about and noticed that everyone else was quiet and hidden behind cover with their weapons drawn. He brought his rifle to bear and rolled behind the nearest tree.

_Shit!_

It was still. The thirsty mosquitoes had no sympathy for his predicament. Nevertheless, Duke didn't dare move a muscle, vowing instead to hunt down every bloodsucker in this godforsaken jungle if he managed to survive this.

_Thunk. Thunk._

Duke's eyes widened as two grenades landed loudly mere feet beside him. His instincts took over, and he broke cover, grabbing the two grenades and tossing them away to explode a safe distance away. Snake-Eyes charged, and tackled Duke. They both hit the dirt as the grounds around them became drenched in metal rain.

Rock n' Roll popped off his safety and took aim. Without batting an eye, he answered the assault with a hundred rounds from his M-60, giving Snake-Eyes and Duke time to crawl behind a felled log. He reloaded, and the surrounding trees splintered around them.

"I didn't expect to eat dirt for dinner," Duke said after the last volley.

"How does it taste?" Snake Eyes asked.

"Best meal I ever had," Duke replied, grateful to be alive. "I thought you said a firefight out here was a death sentence."

"Yes, but our friends out there don't seem to appreciate that. You got any ideas, Einstein?"

Duke smiled. "Yeah. Those grenades I tossed were NATO ordnance."

Snake-Eyes chortled in understanding. "You gotta be kidding me." He then commanded loud enough for everyone to hear, "US ARMY! CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! "

Then, as quickly as it began, the shooting stopped. It was still again. Snake-Eyes was the first rise, joined shortly after by Duke. The rest of the team stayed behind cover when a voice was heard from the enemy position:

"SOUND OFF!"

Snake-Eyes cursed. "Kilo Company... Long Range Recon Patrol!" 

The same voice replied, "Special Forces 3rd Battalion.... We're coming out."

Snake-Eyes signed something to Stalker. Stalker nodded, grabbed his gear, and disappeared out of sight. Both units came out from cover and cautiously squared off. Snake-Eyes and Duke met the 3rd Battalion leader, who introduced himself as Firefly.

Snake-Eyes sneered. "Well don't you all look adorable in your Green Berets."

"Didn't anyone tell you lurps that the Rangers pulled out two years ago," Firefly said, matching Snake-Eyes' sarcasm. "When we saw those _slopes_ leave your camp, we assumed that you were Charlie."

"I've heard of these guys," said Duke, "They're _Panther Force,_ stationed out of Ft. Bragg. They're supposed to be the best."

"Hooah!" Firefly replied. He then introduced the rest of his men: Mendez, Stokes, and Beretta.

Snake-Eyes, likewise, introduced the men of K Company with the exclusion of Stalker.

"Isn't it about time you boys told us what you're doing so far from home?" Snake-Eyes said.

Firefly hesitated. "You first."

"We don't have time for a pissing contest, soldier," Duke interjected. "We're obviously heading to the same location. We were sent by DIA, and no one told us _you_ were going to be here."

"I guess some REMF back home screwed up," said Firefly finally. "We're here to take out Tho." He slung his rifle over his shoulder; when he did so, everyone relaxed.

" _The Tiger_ is here?" Duke said with apprehension.

"What in the hell is a 'tho'?" Snake-Eyes asked.

"General Tiger Tho," Duke began. "He trained as a Kamikaze pilot during World War II. He defected to China when Hirohito surrendered back in '45 because he saw the surrender as weakness on the part of the emperor. Disenchanted with his homeland, he became a major force behind-the-scenes in Asian politics for the last twenty-five years."

Firefly sighed loudly. "May I now ask what you grunts are doing here?"

"We're here for Destro," said Duke.

"The Tiger is meeting with Destro?" The apprehension in Firefly's voice now matched Duke's. "I think we need to compare notes."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

As the sun sank lower into the sky, Panther Force and K Company made plans to assault General Tho's encampment. Using Panther Force reconnaissance, they were able to put together a makeshift scale model of the compound.

"Tho is holed up here in this abandoned POW camp protected by about thirty NVA troops," Firefly said as he started pointing out corresponding areas on the model. "They have guards posted at these three locations. Lucky for us it was designed to look out for people trying to break _out_ ; not for people trying to breaking _in_. As soon as Destro arrives, we have to take these guards out first before we make a run at the command bunker."

"What about these barracks?" said Snake-Eyes. "Most of his troops will be in there."

"There's a corridor between the helipad and the bunker that is relatively unprotected. If we punch straight through, the barracks will be a turkey shoot."

"No, that's too easy," Zap interjected. "This lane is probably lined with claymores. As soon as you set foot in this zone, they'll set them off, and you're FUBAR'd. It's the old bait-and-switch _._ "

Firefly narrowed his eyes at Zap. "How do you know?"

"Because that's what _I_ would do."

"So, what do you propose?"

"You've got the right idea; it just needs some tweaking... As long as you grunts have the cajones for it."

"We have," said Snake-Eyes, and they went to work.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Sunset. K Company and Panther Force were poised to engage the compound.

"This is team Alpha: Snake-Eyes, Preacher, and Firefly. All units radio check."

"Team Bravo: Duke and Mendez standing by to take out guard tower one."

"Team Charlie: Zap and Stokes standing by to take out guard tower two."

"Team Delta: Rock n' Roll and Beretta standing by to take out guard tower three."

No sooner had the teams set in position when a transport gunship came up silently over the tree line. A small jet-powered vehicle escorted the helicopter.

"What in the hell is that?" said Rock n' Roll over the comm. "It looks like a lazy-boy with a rocket strapped to the back!"

"Cut the chatter, Delta," Snake-Eyes said. He cut the mike and looked to Firefly, "Have you ever seen anything like that before?"

"No. It looks like some kind of _flight pod_."

When the chopper landed, Snake-Eyes gave the order to begin, "All teams go. Terminate with extreme prejudice."

Snake-Eyes waited patiently over the squelch of the radio. What could be measured in minutes seemed like hours before he heard a response:

"Team Bravo: guard tower one is clear."

"Team Charlie: guard tower two is clear."

"Team Delta: guard tower three is clear."

Snake-Eyes gave a sigh of relief then responded, "Copy that. Alpha team is going in."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Once the gunship touched down on the helipad, a team of mercenaries disembarked and secured the area. As the rotors slowed, the mercenary leader stepped out of the co-pilot seat and walked to the main cabin to escort his VIP out of the chopper.

The VIP stepped out slowly. He was a tall thin man dressed in a burgundy suit. He wore a shiny steel mask and carried a cane, although it did not appear he needed it to walk.

"Major Bludd, I would like you to accompany me to bunker," said the man in the steel mask.

"As you wish, Lord Destro," Bludd said with a bow.

Destro and Bludd left the helipad to meet the pilot of the flight pod that escorted them.

"How did the prototype handle, my son?" said Destro.

"Better. There's still too much yaw, but I think a second engine will give it the stability we need. I also recommend adding a plexi-glass _bubble_ around the seat to protect the pilot."

"I'm glad to see how adept you've become in research and development, my son. Come with me to the bunker... it's about time _you_ participated in this aspect of the family business."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

"All right, Zap, this is your ball game now, where are those claymores?" Snake-Eyes said over the comm-link.

"I'm spotting them now from my perch... Just as I figured: 12 mines along the path between the helipad and the command bunker. Claymores have a directed blast radius of 60 degrees; all you gotta do is place the front toward the enemy... Watch it, Firefly; there's one right next to you."

"Roger that, I see it. I think we got it from here. All teams commence radio silence."

Zap turned off his mike and continued to watch Team Alpha work on the mines from his post in tower two. Suddenly, he heard a 'click', and then a 'splat' sound before feeling wetness on the back if his neck. He looked up from his binoculars to see Stokes slump to the ground—the hole in his head spewed brain tissue. He felt the back of his neck and brought his hand about to see it covered with blood: it wasn't his. He had his weapon at the ready when he saw Stalker appear over the ledge.

"Did you do that?" Zap whispered.

"Yeah," Stalker replied.

"Why?"

"It's usually customary to say _thank-you_ when a buddy stops someone from putting a bullet in your head."

"I thought Snakes ordered you to shadow us—"

"Just a sec..." Stalker shouldered his rifle, aiming his scope at tower one:

_PAMF!_

Mendez's head burst, just before he was about to plunge his knife into Duke's back. Stalker swung his scope toward the last guard tower, and he squeezed the trigger.

_PAMF!_

A geyser of blood erupted from Beretta's temple as he was choking Rock n' Roll with a wire. He collapsed on top of him.

Satisfied, Stalker shouldered his rifle, "Snakes said to make sure Panther Force never saw me, because he didn't trust them. After you guys left camp, I went through their gear... Wanna guess what I found?"

"Comic books and bubble gum?"

"That, _and_ Kalashnikovs with Black Pajamas."

"Dios mio," said Zap, kissing his crucifix. "Panther Force has been raiding villages disguised as Charlie?"

"Looks like it. I figure they were on a _Zippo mission:_ no witnesses. Still, I had to wait until they made a move on you before I could be sure."

"Snakes and Preacher are down there with Firefly. He's gonna smoke them if we don't warn them now!"

"I agree. But Firefly has ears, so we can't risk warning them over the radio." Stalker made his way down the tower. "Come on... we'll fill the guys in on the way."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

General Tho opened the door to the command bunker to greet his guests. He shook Destro's hand and introductions were made.

"I hope you're not wasting my time, Tho," said Destro. He followed Tho to the desk situated at a place of prominence and sat in the chair made available to him. His son and Major Bludd oped to remain standing.

"Is that any way to talk to your most loyal customer," said Tho. He ordered one of his bodyguards to pour Destro's tea

"Business is business; this little conflict of yours is winding down, so I'll soon be forced to explore other prospects."

"Then, by all means, let's talk business," he casually sipped his tea. "Is that vehicle I saw the prototype that you promised me?"

"Yes, the TB-1 Flight Pod," Destro replied. "What she lacks in firepower, she more than makes up for in speed and maneuverability. You'll find her more than a match for any modern battle chopper."

"A remarkable achievement, Lord Destro," said a masked figure standing in the back of the room.

Destro and his entourage regarded the mystery man. "And who might you be?"

"An _associate_ of General Tho's, and a long time admirer of your work," said the stranger. "You worship chaos; I too am a follower of its destructive beauty."

"Is that so?"

" _Yessss_."

"My associate here has generously agreed to supply the funding for this meeting," said Tho. He slid Destro an invoice from across the table, "I would like to place an order for some of your experimental technologies."

Destro took the order form and started reading it aloud, "One hundred _Hi_ gh _S_ peed _S_ entry Tanks, fifty _F_ ully _A_ rmed _N_ egator _G_ yrocopters, Two hundred _A_ ssault _S_ ystem _P_ ods... Are you planning on taking over a country, Tho?"

"Of sorts." Tho grinned. "The Americans grow weary of war. Once their army pulls out, a private militia under my command will topple the provisional government, and I will install a puppet regime loyal to China. "

"That's quite a gamble. Are you sure NATO will let that stand?"

"Quite. If I succeed, Chairman Mao will welcome this regime with open arms. Our show of strength will cement our alliance with Warsaw. Without American involvement, NATO wouldn't dare interfere. And Vietnam is only the beginning. With these new weapons, and Warsaw's tacit approval, we will march throughout all of Indochina. Asia will once again be of one heart and one mind."

"With _you_ as one of its viceroys?"

"For starters," Tho said; his grin turned into a smile.

"Normally an order of this size would take several months—if not a few years. Some of these items are still on the drawing board. I'll need to upgrade my production facilities, hire new contractors—"

"I am prepared to cover all of your _expensesss_ as a down payment," said the stranger. He presented Destro with a briefcase, and he opened it to reveal the diamonds and other precious gems inside.

Destro examined one of the stones. "These are flawless." He eyed the masked stranger warily. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. _Ssso_ do we have a deal?"

"Yes."

" _Excccccellent,_ " the stranger said with an excited hiss. He then noticed that this behavior garnered strange looks from the others in the room. "Forgive my accent. It is an inflection normal to my native tongue. I have not quite _massstered_ your language yet."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Team Alpha had since reset all the explosives and moved them to locations that would maximize enemy casualties. They worked their way unseen to the command bunker. There were two guards standing outside. From the shadows, Snake-Eyes came behind one, hitting him in the back of the head with his rifle. Before the other guard could react, Firefly ambushed him, slitting his throat and stabbing his chest. They stood guard while Preacher headed for the entrance. He knocked.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

"Dude, why are you using _all_ of our C-4?" Rock n' Roll asked.

"Hey this is our last mission," Zap replied. "Who knows when I'll get the chance to blow stuff up like this again. Besides, don't you want to go out with a bang?"

"The only thing I like to 'bang' is poon."

Zap put the bricks in place and then set the timer.

"Is that going to be enough time?"

"Yeah, more than enough," Zap said. He took out his radio. "Duke, the explosives are in place."

"Good. Get back here on the double. Once this goes off, we'll draw their fire. That should give Stalker enough time to track down and take out Firefly."

"Roger... Is the guard still standing outside?"

"Yeah, but as long as you go out the back, he shouldn't see you."

All the while, Rock n' Roll had been exploring the other side of the armory. Scanning the shelves with his flashlight, he saw a box of grenades and decided to load up—you can never have too much ordnance. When he bent over, he bumped into a large object covered by a tarp. He removed the tarp and gasped: bricks of C-4 lined the entire wall all the way to the ceiling four bricks deep.

"Er... Zap?"

"I'm busy."

"But, dude."

"Not now, Rock, I have to concentrate: Once I set this, there's no going back." Zap flipped the switch, and the timer started to count down.

"Dude!"

"Dammit, Rock, what is it!"

"Did you know that all this stuff was here?"

Zap turned to see Rock n' Roll's flashlight illuminate the wall of C-4. He gulped. "Er... no, Rock, I did not."

"Isn't this gonna make the explosion _mucho_ bigger."

"Considerably."

"Well, did you set the timer for long enough?"

"Er... no, Rock, I did not."

Zap and Rock n' Roll burst through the main door of the armory building. They inadvertently knocked over the lone guard and ran as fast as they could to the ditch where Duke and Stalker waited.

The guard rolled to his feet and screamed at them in Vietnamese as he raised his rifle.

_PAMF!_

The guard's head jerked back, and he collapsed to the ground.

"What the hell are you two thinking?" Duke said to Rock n' Roll as the gunner landed into the ditch next to him.

Zap followed closely behind; however, he leapt over the ditch and kept running:

"No, too close! Keep going!" He said, speeding off.

Rock n' Roll obeyed. Stalker, without asking questions, slung his rifle over his shoulder and followed.

Duke scrambled to get his gear together. "Aw, shit!"

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

There was a knock on the door of the command bunker. A guard opened the door and was greeted with a kick to the face that sent him flying across the room. Preacher stormed the room with his rifle raised.

"Put your hands in the air! US Army! You're all under arrest!"

Tho's bodyguard went for his gun. Preacher shot him in the forehead before his hand reached the holster.

Having made his point, Preacher continued, "I want each of you to throw all of your guns out of the window one at a time."

Everyone in the room obeyed, and one-by-one threw their guns out. Major Bludd was last.

Preacher aimed his gun at Major Bludd, "I said _all_ of them."

With a grimace, Major Bludd took out his backup pistols and threw them out of the window as well.

Tho closed the eyes of his felled bodyguard and glared at Preacher. "You will pay for this transgression, boy... in blood."

"Yeah, take a number and get in line."

Destro pointed his cane at Preacher. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Other than an asshole? No." Preacher walked over to the window and whistled outside.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

When Snake-Eyes heard Preacher's signal, he took out his radio. "The bunker is secured, Firefly. I'll call in the rest of the team—"

_CLICK!_

The distinctive sound prompted Snake-Eyes to drop his radio and put his hands up over his head. He turned around slowly. Firefly had a pistol aimed point-blank at his head.

"So, you finally show your true colors," Snake-Eyes said, calmly. "Special Forces, my ass. Who do you really work for?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Firefly replied. "But, like the rest of your unit, you'll be too busy being dead to care!"

Just then, the armory exploded. The earth shook. Munitions shot into the sky, like a roman candle, and colored the night in red and orange.

Firefly instinctively jerked his head in the direction of the explosion, and Snake-Eyes used the distraction to rush him. He managed to grab Firefly's gun arm.

A wave of NVA troops ran out of the barracks to investigate. When they saw American soldiers on the grounds, they approached, and the claymores cut them down. The alarm sounded.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

The explosion outside rocked the bunker, and Preacher was momentarily distracted. However, a _moment_ was all Tho needed: he unsheathed a short-sword hidden under his jacket and leapt toward preacher. Preacher was surprised, as Tho moved considerably faster than his bodyguard. He raised his M-16 just in time to block the blade aimed for his neck.

The sword cut deep into the rifle shaft, causing the bayonet to pop off, where it fell to stab the floor. The force of the strike bent the rifle shaft, so Preacher abandoned his weapon and rolled to the side, picking up his bayonet on the way. He vaulted to his feet and pulled out his Bowie knife with his free hand, just in time to block Tho's skull-splitter from above.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Exploding ordnance continued to turn night into day. Snake-Eyes and Firefly's struggled for control of the weapon. An NVA trooper rushed their position. Both men instinctively worked together to fire the pistol: Snake-Eyes aimed while Firefly pulled the trigger.

Once the trooper was dispatched, Snake-Eyes flipped Firefly over his shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon. Firefly did not resist, rather he rolled with the flip, landed on his back, and he kicked Snake-Eyes in the face. Snake-Eyes stumbled backwards while Firefly scrambled to his feet.

Both soldiers shouldered their rifles, but as they were assailed by more NVA troops, they stood back to back: Firefly covered their forward position while Snake-Eyes shot down a small team that managed to flank them.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Bludd dove at Preacher from behind. Preacher was able to side step him by rolling on top of the table. As he rolled over the tabletop, Tho stabbed at him—missing him by inches and causing his sword to get stuck between the planks of wood. Preacher somersaulted under the table and kicked it off its legs.

Tho stumbled and Bludd charged with his knife. Preacher twisted out of the way, although the knife managed to cut a gash down the side of his uniform. Preacher reversed his grip on his bayonet, and he plunged it into Bludd's hand. Bludd screamed when Preacher pulled the bayonet out and mercilessly 'walked' his bayonet and knife hand-over-hand up Bludd's extended arm, ending with his knife in Bludd's eye. The mercenary writhed on the floor.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Firefly dispatched the last of the NVA troops. Their tacit truce over, he spun in Snake-Eyes' direction and pulled the trigger. The shots missed, as Snake-Eyes had already charged to tackle him low at the waist. Firefly twisted with the charge, causing Snake-Eyes to whip around him.

As Firefly flipped his rifle forward to reacquire his target, Snake-Eyes grabbed the barrel and used his momentum to jerk Firefly off-balance. Firefly stumbled forward, and Snake-Eyes drop kicked him, causing Firefly's head to whiplash. Both men lay flat on their backs, exhausted.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Bludd's screams continued to drown the sounds of the hell outside. Against Destro's protests, his son picked up a pipe and charged Preacher. Destro pulled out a dirk hidden in his cane and joined the fray, just as Tho pried his sword out of the table.

Preacher blocked the pipe then ducked Tho's kick just as Destro lunged with his dirk. Tho's foot sunk into Destro's abdomen, causing him to double-over. Preacher rolled over Destro's back to evade another swing of the pipe. He pushed Destro into his son, causing them to both fall to the ground.

The stranger merely watched from the back of the room.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Snake-Eyes trained his rifle on a barely conscious Firefly when he noticed that another wave of NVA troops, that had survived the initial blast, were about to overrun them. Snake-Eyes hit the dirt and rolled as he shot into the enemy. He cursed when he ran out of ammo and ducked behind cover. He prayed as he searched his pockets—all he needed was one more clip. His prayers were not answered with bullets, but rather when K Company charged the enemy's flank, clipping them in a crossfire.

Ducking low to stay out of the line of fire, Snake-Eyes went back to Firefly. He drew his knife just as Firefly staggered to his feet.

"Looks like you were wrong about my men," Snake-Eyes said bringing his blade to bear. "I guess you didn't read the chapter in the Black Ops manual that says, _always keep an ace up your sleeve_."

With a bloodied smile, Firefly took out a remote detonator hidden in his pocket. "The manual also says, _you don't need an ace if you stack the deck!_ " He glanced at the command bunker, and he flipped the switch.

Snake-Eyes cursed. "PREACHER! FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

The masked stranger retreated behind a communications cabinet. It was three against one, but _who_ would eventually triumph remained unclear. The calculated frenzy continued as Preacher kept his enemies off balance and in each other's way. The fight seemed like it would continue indefinitely, when suddenly he heard someone yell, _fire in the hole._ An explosion rocked the entire bunker, and then there was darkness.

When the stranger came to, he noticed that half the roof had caved in. Smoke filled the room and the sound of gunfire could be heard outside.

"Bloody Hell!"

He crawled over to the voice to find Major Bludd: his left eye was bleeding heavily; his right arm hung lifelessly at his side. With is good arm, he tried to drag Destro's unconscious son out of the bunker with little luck.

"If I carry him, will you take me with you?" said the stranger.

Major Bludd curled his lip. "Agreed."

"Lead the way; I'll follow as _sssoon_ as I can."

Bludd staggered out of the bunker; adjusting a tourniquet he had tied around his dead arm to stop the bleeding. The stranger hoisted the unconscious body over his shoulders. Once he was steady, he noticed someone had grabbed his ankle. He looked down to regard Destro.

"Wait," Destro said weakly, "I still live."

"Wanna bet," the stranger responded, and he toppled the communications cabinet on top of the prostrate Destro. He laughed maniacally as he watched Destro's twitching arm jut out from under the cabinet. A pool of blood seeped out from under the heavy equipment, and the hand went limp.

Once outside, he caught up with Major Bludd. They used the smoke from the smoldering ruins of the barracks to conceal their escape to the gunship. Bludd's mercenaries were well trained. Rather than join the fire fight with the NVA, they knew it was their priority to keep the helicopter secured as a means of escape. Once their leader was in sight, they immediately formed ranks to aid his escape. A browning M-2 blanketed the area around them. K Company ran for cover.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

"We gotta stop that chopper from taking off!" said Duke.

"Not with that 50-cal pinning us down!" said Rock n' Roll.

"Stalker, have you got a shot?"

"Negative, zero visibility."

They watched in vain as the gunship took off under a blanket of suppression fire.

"That bird has got us out-gunned, why are they pulling back?" said Rock n' Roll.

"From what I can tell, they've got wounded," Stalker replied.

K Company broke off and found Snake-Eyes standing outside the remains of the command bunker.

"I guess you found out about Firefly," Duke said.

"Yeah," Snake-Eyes replied, "but the bastard got away. Let's stay sharp, the area is not secure, and Preacher is down in the command bunker."

As if on cue, a familiar voice cut through the smoke. "YO KILO!"

"Preacher, is that you!" Snake-Eyes replied to the darkness.

"Affirmative."

Preacher stepped out of the smoke carrying Destro's lifeless form over his shoulder. He was covered in grime, and smoke stained his uniform. He coughed heavily as his lungs tried to expel the soot he had inhaled. Relieved to see their team mate alive, the team replied with an energetic, _"YO KILO!"_

"Anyone left alive in there?" Snake-Eyes asked.

"No."

"What about Tho?"

"He's not in there." Preacher dropped the corpse and fell to his hands and knees.

Zap came to his aid, offering his canteen. "Can you walk?"

Preacher took a swig. "I'll do back flips to get out this hell hole."

"I think we've attracted enough attention to ourselves for one night," Stalker added. "Those explosions were, no doubt, seen for miles."

"Let's bag the body," said Snake-Eyes. He helped Preacher to his feet. "We'll rest in the Badlands before heading for the LZ."

Stalker took point, leading the way back into the jungle, followed by Snake-Eyes and Preacher. Rock n' Roll and Zap carried Destro, while Duke brought up the rear. He scanned the area to make sure they weren't being followed, and he disappeared into the bush.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

"I'm so _sssorry_ for your loss. Your father was a great man... a true visionary."

The son clenched his jaw. "Yes he was." He looked out of the hatch to the jungle below. "I will have my vengeance."

" _Sssuch_ anger. Take care not to lash out blindly lest you destroy yourself."

He angrily regarded the stranger. "Are you trying to tell me to exercise restraint?"

"On the contrary: I'm telling you to _dessstroy_ , maim, and project your pain onto the world."

"I will make the world burn."

"Tell me, do you share in your father's philosophy on _chaosss_?"

"It is our family creed: _chaos_ is the only true motivator for political change."

"Then fulfill your father's pledge, but make your machines of war for me. Follow me, and together we will rain _chaosss_ on the tribes of man such that the gods in heaven will tremble."

"I don't care who I make the weapons for, as long as I receive payment," he said. He slapped the back of his neck. "Damned mosquitoes!"

"And you, Major Bludd... Will you _raissse_ me a mighty army?"

"I'm not an _idealissst_ like you," Bludd said, mocking the stranger's accent. "I have enough to retire on, and I'm getting out before I lose any more body parts."

"You _disssappoint_ me, noble Bludd."

"Raising a mercenary army is gonna take years. This little piece of dirt isn't worth the trouble."

"I agree, Tho had the right idea, but I see now that he sets his goals too low. Indochina is much too small a theatre for men of our _talentsss_."

"What are you proposing, Monsieur?"

"Follow me, Bludd, and you will require two lifetimes to count the gold that will line your pockets."

"I'll say this for you: you drive a hard bargain," said Bludd, rubbing the back of his neck with his able hand.

* * *

 

(1) Ephesians 6:12


	5. Agendas

 

GI Joe Headquarters – November 3, 1989

Lt. Jenkins slowly stirred the sugar into his morning coffee. "Akamatsu, what was so important that you had to call me in the middle of the night?"

"I was being proactive," Jinx said. "I got a hunch yesterday when Cover Girl told me, in passing, that they were shipping de-milled equipment to Sierra Army Depot—"

"Yea, I already know about that. The equipment is to be stripped and resold through the DoD. It's to offset some of the cost for the new fleet of ground vehicles."

"Well, last night I paid a visit to the Motor Pool and sat in on a shipment."

His eyes narrowed, "What do you mean you, _sat in_?"

She gently bit her bottom lip in hesitation, "I... still have _access_ to building six."

His interest now piqued, he put down his coffee and clasped is hands together atop his desk. "Continue."

"The convoy didn't come from Sierra. They were shipping to and from Ft. Irwin."

"Is it possible that you misunderstood?"

"No. The plates from the transports were from Ft. Irwin, but the manifest indicated delivery from Sierra. I believe that the manifest is a deliberate forgery."

"That _is_ suspicious. But I can think of a number of reasons how that could happen."

"So could I. That's why I inspected the equipment after the swap; they're not assembly-line new. In fact, I believe it's our same equipment – it's just been recycled."

"And you're sure about this?"

"Absolutely, one of the supposed 'new' vehicles was a HAVOC I used to work on. They put on a fresh coat of paint, and a new set of serial numbers, but it's the same piece of junk."

"In order for that to happen, key personnel would have to be acting in collusion," he mused.

"Add last night's shipment with the rest of our ground fleet, and I think we've found the ten million dollars."

Jenkins continued to appear detached as he brought his hands up to his face, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers, "So, Hawk ships off his own equipment to keep up appearances – a few items at a time to escape notice. He then _buys_ the equipment back, writes up an invoice, and pockets the cash... it fits."

"So, at a minimum, this mock purchase involves at least General Hawk, the Motor Pool, and the A/R managers at two other Army bases."

He eyed her warily, "Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No. But at some point we have to report it."

Jenkins shook his head, "I want you to continue to follow the paper trail. We don't have enough to go to the Auditor General: Hawk is a highly decorated soldier, so we need more than theories."

"But, how can I do that if I can't trust the paperwork?"

"You just might get lucky. Besides, the problem with reporting it now is that any evidence might _conveniently_ disappear. I'll re-check the books, while you go through his service record. Look for any discrepancies that involve anything Black-Budget. Make sure you go _all_ the way back!"

"If Hawk is good at anything, it's paperwork. You said yourself that everything reconciles."

"Yes, but if we can establish a pattern, it doesn't matter. It'll be enough to request an informal inquiry. This is why we have audits." Before she could say anything else, he dismissed her and continued to drink his coffee.

She stood up, but hesitated. "Sir, I—"

Sensing the trepidation in her voice, he cut her off, "I know what you're thinking, but I need you to stay focused. Just do your job." He watched her turn around to leave. Before she reached the door he said, "You did good, Corporal."

_tick...tick...tick...tick..._

Time is the ultimate sadist: unsatisfyingly fleeting during periods of bliss, and excruciatingly slow during periods of angst. Human beings are naturally curious. When presented with a mystery, it is human nature to try to solve it. Searching for, and uncovering, clues can be edifying thus their appeal. Jinx was no exception to this. She allowed herself to get caught up in the romantic notion of uncovering some grand conspiracy. After the meeting with Jenkins, however, the allure quickly faded when she started to ponder the consequences. General Hawk was a person she had come to admire. She couldn't help but wonder, _Is this a mystery that I want to solve?_

_tick...tick...tick...tick..._

She glanced at the wall clock; it was time for lunch. On her way to the mess, her sensibilities began shift. If their positions were reversed, would General Hawk press the issue? Of course, she already knew the answer to that.

Now, more than ever, she felt like an outsider. She circled around the dining area looking for a table where she could dine alone. After her third circuit, she noticed Alpine and Footloose getting up to leave. When they left, she immediately took the table. Once she was settled, she looked around to make sure she wasn't being watched. Although she was hungry, she was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she couldn't bring herself to eat. With her fork, she made tracks in her mashed potatoes.

"Mind if I join you?"

She sat up straight with a start when she heard the voice. She looked up to see Stalker standing over her with his lunch tray. Without waiting for an answer, he took the seat across from her. He started to eat in silence as Jinx looked at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering why, out of all the other tables in the mess, he decided to sit here.

He reached for his tea and took a sip. When he put the glass back down, he noticed that she was looking at him. He smiled at her and made an off-hand comment about the weather. Blushing, she returned his smile and looked down at her tray trying to appear fascinated by the way the peas where arranged on her plate.

"Pass the salt please," he said.

She looked at the saltshaker next to her tray; it was then that she noticed she had been tightly gripping the sides of her chair all this time. She released her hold and handed him the saltshaker.

"Better not let Roadblock see you use that," she said.

"I'll take my chances," he replied, and he sprinkled the salt over his plate. He regarded her as she continued to make tracks in her potatoes. "Aren't you eating?"

She looked down at her plate. Her appetite was gone, but in order to keep up appearances, she speared a stalk of broccoli with her fork, put it in her mouth and chewed slowly.

He tasted his food, then added more salt. "I got an interesting e-mail from the data desk... you've been granted _secret_ access to our central archives."

"Why would they bother _you_ about that? The files are kept at the Pentagon."

Stalker shook his head. "Before you joined up, Cobra breached the Pentagon Firewalls. They were able to retrieve personal information on some of the teammates and used it to kidnap their family members. Since then, Hawk has had all information from the Pentagon concerning GI Joe transferred here. We get a flag anytime someone requests information."

"I see. But, is it so odd that Finance would need access to the archives?"

"No. What's _odd_ is how quickly this was pushed through. Is there a problem that we should be aware of?"

She shrugged. "None, sir."

He leaned in closer and spoke softly, "Are you sure? Maybe it's something that we can help you with. Is there something specific you're looking for?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I'd rather not say, sir... unless, of course, this is a direct order."

"Relax, Corporal," he said, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. "Just be careful about what you choose to stir up while you're poking around in there."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

After lunch, Jinx headed for _Archive Central_ – a secured repository housing data on all of GI Joe's operations. The fact that the archives were on-prem meant saving her a plane trip to Virginia. Unfortunately, it also served to add to her suspicions of Hawk's intentions. She found it disturbingly convenient that he would keep them so close – under his direct control – regardless of whether he was justified in doing so or not. She signed in at the data desk and went to the computer lab. She logged into the _patriot shell_ , impatiently clicking over the pop-ups warning her that she was cleared for _secret_ access only.

She had a daunting task ahead of her: GI Joe was very prolific when it came to counter-terrorist activities. She limited her queries to operations directly involving _General_ Hawk. She was in awe as she read his service record. With all the accomplishments and commendations, he appeared to be someone above reproach. Suddenly, she was less sure of her position. Going after an officer of Hawk's repute was dangerous. If she was wrong, the consequences could mean more than a demotion... _Demotion_ : the word gave her an idea. She changed her query string to: _Colonel_ Hawk.

The result-set came back with less whitewashed information. It was an older part of the database, so information was sparse: all of the indexes referred her to a cryptic archive code. She printed out the page for future reference and continued her queries. However, every index of interest returned that same mysterious code. Frustrated, she hit the power button on her computer, as opposed to logging out properly, and stormed out of the room.

She went back to the data desk where Mainframe was manning the terminals. She stood over him, drumming her nails across the counter, until he acknowledged her.

"What can I do for you, Jinx?"

"I need help with this archive code." She handed him the printout. "I want to know what it means."

Mainframe glanced at the paper and handed it back to her. "It means that the data in question hasn't been transferred to digital media yet. It's still on paper hard copy. "

"Okay, so how do I get access to the hard copies?"

"You can't, you just have to wait until they've been indexed into the database."

"When is that going to be?"

"Why don't you ask your CO Jenkins? His budget cuts have taken away all the Green Shirts. I don't have enough people to do mundane tasks like data entry."

"So, you're telling me that I can't view these files, even though I have the appropriate clearance for it?"

"The files are kept in storage room F1. Physical entry into that room requires _top-secret_ level access. Unfortunately, you only have _secret_ clearance."

"Aw, c'mon, Mainframe, you're splitting hairs. All you gotta do is buzz me in; it's not a big deal."

"I'd like to help you out, Jinx, but Lt. Jenkins' pet project isn't really high on my list of priorities. Besides, the last time I buzzed in a chick above her security clearance, she tried to blow me up."

Jinx rolled her eyes. "I can't imagine why _any_ woman would try to do that to _you_ , sir."

He watched her walk away. When she exited via the elevator down the hall, Mainframe picked up the phone and dialed:

"Hey Stalker, it's Mainframe. She just left... Yea, I ghosted her session; she didn't find anything."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

"Jinx?"

Jinx stared blankly at her computer screen. "Hi Amy."

"I got those financials you requested." Amy pushed a two-tiered cart, which held boxes of papers, next to the desk.

"Thanks," Jinx replied absent-mindedly.

Amy regarded her with concern. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Hmm?"

"I've noticed that you've been distracted lately."

Jinx finally looked up from her monitor. "Sorry, I don't mean to be."

"Anything I can help you with?"

"No, this is something I have to work through alone." She took the papers off of Amy's cart and placed them on her desk. "You know, I blew through all my Finance courses in college. I just didn't give them a second thought. I figured when I joined the Army, that I would never have to use any that stuff."

"I know what you mean. I took dramatics in college with the intent of going to Hollywood and becoming a _star_ ," she said, striking a playfully dramatic pose. "Ten years and countless auditions later, here I am: a lowly contractor. And to top it all off, given my background, it's been hard to be taken seriously. There's a bias against actresses, even if they have a brain."

Jinx, amused by her theatrics, replied, "It's funny that you should talk about bias, because it's been weighing heavily on my mind lately. In our profession, we're taught to be unbiased. In theory it makes sense, but in real life it's not that simple."

"I know what you mean. I imagine it's worse for you since you're stationed here."

Jinx nodded. "The Lieutenant certainly doesn't help matters either."

"I know he's abrasive, but he gets the job done. At my last assignment, we worked at a DIA branch office where I was ordered to reconcile a large number of unused plane tickets."

"Yes, undercover operatives often purchase multiple plane tickets in order to hide their movements."

"Right, that's how it was explained to me too. Anyway, after I reconciled the balance sheet, I decided to seek refunds from the airlines for the unused fares. I was trying to save the taxpayers some money."

"Sounds reasonable. So, what happened?"

"I got a call from the colonel, ordering me to stop wasting my time."

"Odd that he would even care about something like that."

"I felt the same way, so I took my concerns to Lt. Jenkins. After some digging, he found out that the base commander was using the unused miles to ferry his mistress back-and-forth from Seattle. Needless to say, it turned into a very public mess."

"I think I remember seeing that in the news... So, Jenkins has gone after high ranking officers before?"

"Men in positions of power are like children: they can't keep their hands out of the cookie jar."

"Does Jenkins always get his man?"

Amy nodded. "The man is driven: once he smells blood, he's relentless."

"He sounds like someone with an agenda."

"Girl, this job has taught me that everyone has an agenda."

"Then who do you know to trust?"

Amy shrugged. "Find someone whose agenda doesn't conflict with yours."

Her eyes widened, and she snorted. "Amy, you're a genius, and I'm not just saying that because I'm _biased_." She bolted from her desk and logged out of her computer.

"Where are you going?"

She smirked as she put on her jacket and said, "To see a man with an agenda."

"Well, when you're finished, put the files back on the cart. I'll drop it off at the end my shift this evening."

Jinx waved and left the office.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

"I need to talk to you... alone."

Mercer regarded Jinx and became outwardly annoyed; after all, his time in the gym was the closest thing he had to a break during the day. However, he also had to admit that he was intrigued by the urgency in her tone. He put the barbell back on the rack and led her out of the weight-room and into the hallway. Jinx followed him through an exit that connected to a staircase leading to the floor above. There was no air-conditioning in the staircase, so she unbuttoned her jacket. They went halfway up, to a horizontal pivot-point, where he sat on a rail and retrieved a cigarette from his pocket. She politely declined when he offered her a smoke. From the number of butts that littered floor, she surmised that he must spend a considerable amount of time here.

He lit the cigarette and took a drag. "Normally, I would say it's social suicide for a young lady, such as yourself, to be seen associating with the likes of me. However, the word on the street is you're a bit of an outcast yourself these days."

"I need dirt on Mainframe."

"Straight to the point. I like that. But, I must ask _why_?"

"I think he's stonewalling me."

"He's a boy scout, what do you hope to bribe him with?"

"At the betting pool, I noticed that someone spliced into the security cam feed. I figured Mainframe had to be behind that."

"So, why come to me?"

"You're an opportunist. You make it your business to be in the know when shady stuff like that goes down... No offense."

"None taken... assuming I do know something, why should I tell you anything?"

She looked sheepishly to the ground, kicking an old cigarette butt over the side of the railing. "I was hoping you would do it as a personal favor... for Falcon."

Mercer laughed. "Let's get one thing straight: just because Falcon was in my unit doesn't mean we were friends. Don't expect any favors just because you two used to suck face."

She frowned. "Fine, I give you something in exchange." She noticed that Mercer began eyeing her up-and-down, paying particular attention to her thin formfitting undershirt. She fastened her jacket, afraid to ask what he wanted in trade.

He sneered. "Don't flatter yourself; you're not my type. Although I wouldn't kick you out of my bed the way Falcon did."

She glared at him. "Do we have a deal or not?"

He shrugged. "Deal. You first."

"Snake-Eyes threw the fight with Slaughter."

His eyes narrowed. "Why should I care?"

Jinx grinned. "Because you bet on Snake-Eyes, didn't you?"

Mercer snorted. "How did you know I bet on Snake-Eyes?"

"It was a hunch. You weren't in line when Ace was handing out the winnings. Also, you didn't join in with Red Dog and Taurus when they started goofing on Shipwreck."

Nodding, he stroked his chin. "I _knew_ something wasn't right about that fight!"

"Okay, viper-boy, tit for tat."

"You are correct. Mainframe spliced into the feed. Unfortunately, there's nothing to get him on because he was doing maintenance on the system anyway."

"Dammit."

"Don't lose heart; I heard that he's in the middle of changing the surveillance algorithm for all the security cameras on base. Camera performance will be spotty for the better part of the evening until the new programming takes effect. Security is still tight, but it should be easy enough for a _ninja_ to get around undetected."

Her smug grin disappeared. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course."

"Er... can I ask you something else?"

"You can ask."

"Why did _you_ , of all people, bet on Snake-Eyes?"

He took another drag from his cigarette. "I like you Jinx, so you can consider this a freebie. When you're on the bottom of the food chain at Cobra, your superiors tend to treat you as if you're invisible. As a result, Cobra Commander often let certain information slip when I was on guard duty. Apparently, Snake-Eyes did a lot of GI Joe's dirty work behind the scenes. Ergo, he was considered an Alpha-level threat."

"What do you mean by _Alpha_?"

"Let me put it to you this way. One day, when I was on post, I decided to... _browse_ through some of Cobra's intel documents kept below the commander's throne room. The files they had on all the Joes were kept there as well. The data gathered on each Joe – even data on Hawk – is only about 50 pages worth, on average. However, an entire cabinet, longer than my arm, is devoted only to data on Snake-Eyes. The commander feared him in particular – I suspect that's why he hired the ninja, Storm Shadow, as his personal bodyguard."

Gambling that Mercer would indulge her further, she continued to press him with, "What... did the files say?" She tried to come off as being only _passively_ interested, however she saw that Mercer wasn't buying it.

"You really fancy him, don't you? I'll have to remember that. Unfortunately, you'll have to find anything concrete about him on your own. Most of the intel that Cobra had on him was hearsay. One report claimed that his face was disfigured in a helicopter accident during a rescue mission. Another report even claims that he and Storm Shadow belonged to the same ninja clan."

"Interesting, I've heard, from the guys in the Motor Pool, that he and Scarlett used to be an item."

"It's all rubbish, of course, most of that stuff reads like it came straight out of a comic book."

She paced, giving this new information time to sink in while Mercer finished his cigarette. "I would say, _thank-you,_ Mercer, but I get the impression that you're the one who got the better end of this deal. I take it that you're going to get your winnings back?"

"Are you crazy, that information is worth more than my meager winnings. I'm going file it somewhere – in the back of my brain – until a more lucrative opportunity presents itself."

She rolled her eyes and left.

As he watched her walk away he said, "You've taken a big risk trusting me with your intentions."

She broke no stride during her reply, "I may not know _who_ to trust anymore, but I do know that nobody trusts _you_. I figure an ex-snake wouldn't owe anyone any allegiance... No offense."

The door leading out the staircase closed, and Mercer grinned. "None taken." He dropped the smoldering cigarette on the floor and stamped it out with his foot.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

The elevator door opened. Amy stepped off, pushing a service cart. She approached the data desk at Archive Central and signed in. Stalker took a logbook from her and started to check in the items on the cart.

"I want to thank you guys again for putting those financials together for us so fast," she said. "It's just been crazy lately."

"Not a problem. I know you guys in Finance have had a rough time fitting in around here. It's hard to do an unpopular job, especially when there's a perception from people that you're out to get them," he said, winking at her.

"Thank-you, sir," she said, blushing.

Stalker smiled. "You're a civilian; you can call me Lonzo." He returned to the cart, checking off the items on the list. He came across a small metal container on the bottom shelf. He knelt down next to it as he searched for it on the log-sheet. "What's this? It's not on the list."

"Oh, that? Jinx left me a note saying that she found some old tax forms in the basement. Apparently, they were numbered incorrectly. She figured it would be okay to leave it temporarily with the rest of the financials until it was fixed."

"I see. That shouldn't be a problem. I'll buzz you in." Stalker swiped his key card in the terminal. He paused before entering his password, saying, "You know what. On second thought, leave it in the computer lab instead. I'll take it up with Lt. Jenkins personally in the morning."

Stalker buzzed her in. Amy obediently left the service cart in the middle of the lab, turned off the lights and closed the door behind her. The room was dark and quiet. The small canister on the cart twitched and then toppled over. The lid popped off and an object slid out and slumped onto the floor. The tightly wound object uncurled itself from the shape of its prison and expanded. Arms and legs slowly unwound from the center transforming itself into the shape of a person: it was alive.

Eyelids fluttered as the entity fought for consciousness. Breathing, that was once shallow to conserve oxygen, became full and regular. The extra air jump-started the heart. Blood began to pump, bringing life to what was previously near death. When the body was ready, the mind of Jinx awoke from its trance.

She laid there for several minutes. The sinews slowly stretched back into a normal position. The vertebrae in her spine collapsed back to their familiar curvature. She slowly stood up and finished massaging her muscles. By now, her eyes had become adjusted to the darkness. She quickly surmised that she was not at her intended destination. Fortunately, she knew that once behind the concrete security wall, most of the rooms were connected by a common ventilation system. She crawled into a nearby grate and climbed up into the ceiling.

She explored the network of conduits and came to a light shining through a meshed grate. When she peeked through the mesh, she could see that she was looking down upon the data desk. Stalker was seated at a terminal that rotated between displays of various security cameras. He appeared to be talking to someone. She couldn't see who it was from her vantage point, but from the sounds of things, he was enjoying the company. After studying the security readout, she continued to her destination: storage room F1.

Using the data desk as a point of reference, she calculated that her destination was fifty feet west of her position. She crawled through the conduit in silence – careful to distribute her weight evenly along her knees and elbows so as not to cause noise from the warping of the metal of the surrounding duct. A rush of cool air greeted her when she turned a corner; it felt good against her skin. When she came completely about, her thigh brushed against a small object. She took out her flash light and illuminated the area. Her heart raced when she realized it was a security camera, the lens staring her in the face. Luckily, the camera was not active. She sighed in relief and silently gave thanks that Mercer's intel about Mainframe's diagnostics was correct. However, that was no reason for being sloppy. She decided to exit from the duct at the next available grate and go the rest of the way on foot; it was too hard to see in those narrow crawlspaces, and there could be other security measures present that she didn't account for.

She opened the grate and peeked into the hallway below. When it was clear, she dropped down, landing silently into a three-point stance. She was wearing her black ACU so as to blend-in with the support staff. She retrieved a blonde wig from her pocket and put it on.

She came upon an adjoining corridor and stopped. By her estimate, storage room F1 was one corridor over just south of her position. She took out a small mirror from her pocket and peeked around the edge of the wall using the reflection. Sure enough, there was an active security camera sweeping the hallway. She waited until the camera panned away before turning the corner. She hugged the wall – staying out of the camera's field of vision – until she made it to the block containing storage room F1.

She arrived at the door marked "F1". Before going inside, she put her ear to the door and listened. Her eyes widened and her heart raced when she heard movement inside. She looked for a placed to hide in the barren hallway. She pressed her hands and feet against the walls on either side of her, using her body to span the length of the narrow hallway. Using opposing pressure, she scaled the walls all the way up to the ceiling.

No sooner did she reach the top when the door swung open. Beach Head stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He paused, took out his walkie-talkie and pushed a button:

"Hey, Stalker," has anything unusual happened your way?

"Negative, Beach. All's clear. What's wrong?"

"Nothin', I just got a feelin'."

"You always have a _feelin'_..."

 _Why are you just standing there?_ Jinx thought to herself. From her position, she could see the top of his head as he scanned the hallway. _Don't look up... Don't look up..._ She started to feel the strain from supporting herself in such a precarious position. She was so close to him that she didn't dare breathe – even though her muscles would soon start to cry for oxygen. As her arms and legs began to shake, she closed her eyes and found her center:

_There is no body. I am insubstantial. I am the air. I am invisible._

She opened her eyes when she perceived that Beach Head had left. She dropped down and entered the storage room: It was like stepping into a time capsule. Old boxes full of papers and microfiche were stacked to the ceiling. She took out her list of reference numbers and began looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack of paperwork.

She found herself fascinated with the history documented in this room – most of it, sadly, would never see the light of day in a history text. Given the opportunity, she would love to explore and study that history. However, time was never her friend. Hours passed, yet she made no progress. It didn't help that she had to search in the darkness with only her flashlight to read by. She checked her watch: if she didn't find what she was looking for soon, she would have to abort.

At the end of hope, she came across a file cabinet hidden in the back of the room. She compared the reference numbers on the files to her list. _Jackpot!_ She laid the files out and began to sort through them. One folder caught her attention. It was simply labeled: "K Company". It stood out because the designation did not specify a battalion or brigade division, as with standard Army nomenclature.

As she read through the classified documents, she realized that the events chronicled pre-dated GI Joe. She recognized some of the names in the various mission reports: notably Hawk, Stalker, and Snake-Eyes. She gave pause, however, when she got to the end of the file. Many of the reports that outlined the events following the final mission were censored heavily. Some pages were completely blackened – only allowing the reference number to be visible. Furthermore, the censoring of the documents appeared to have happened recently; the pages were still warping from the moisture of being heavily markered. _Is this what Beach Head was doing in here?_ She cursed, afraid that she was too late to find anything meaningful. She glanced at her watch and cursed again. The maintenance window for the security upgrade was almost over.

Determined to glean what information she could, she continued to examine each page with care – ignoring that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that time was running out. Her persistence paid off when she held one of the documents up to the light. She noticed that due to the indentation of the typeset, that the ink from the marker had not completely bled through the page in certain areas. If she looked for the indentations, she could still read a decent portion of the text. She worked quickly – using her spy camera to photograph what she could and taking notes longhand for the rest. She had just finished going over the minutes taken from a formal inquiry investigating Colonel Clayton Abernathy: Hawk. She arched an eyebrow when she got to the last page. There was a death certificate appended. She gasped audibly as she read on.

"Oh, my God."


	6. Progeny

 

Vietnam – April 12, 1975

Duke closed the door Hawk's office and breathed an exasperated sigh. He regarded Snake-Eyes, who was waiting patiently by the water cooler. "Whew, I haven't been chewed out like that since Tet."

"He must like you." Snake-Eyes snorted. "At least we got Destro."

"Yeah, but the brass wanted him alive." He and Snake-Eyes left the command bunker. The sun shone brightly overhead, spurring him to put on his sunglasses. "You know, I get the feeling that we're going to take the heat for Panther Force. Those bastards made My Lai look like a picnic. There'll no doubt be a full inquiry."

Snake-Eyes crushed his empty water cup. "Don't bet on it; somebody high up sent them there illegally. Both sides are going to want this swept under the rug. "

"I suppose you're right."

"It looks like you guys did alright against them."

Duke snorted quietly, surprised that Snake-Eyes actually gave him a compliment. "Stalker told me that it was your idea to shadow them. How did you know that they were lying about being in Special Forces?"

"It was their green berets."

"Pardon?"

" _Green Berets_ don't wear their green berets in the field. If you ask me, they fought like spooks."

"I agree. We got our initial intel on Destro from the CIA. It looks like they were holding out on us. And that jerk Firefly certainly played his part to the hilt!"

"Personally, I'm making Firefly my new hobby. I have friends in Black Ops. If he ever shows his ugly mug anywhere, I'll be there to chop that Son of a Bitch's head off."

"You're not the only one with a score to settle."

"I have to admit at one time I thought you had been holding out on us too."

"Nope, I was just as surprised as you were."

"I know. If I thought for a second that you kicked us into that shit-grinder on purpose, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Duke arched an eyebrow. "So, what did I do to gain your trust?"

"The men vouched for you; that was good enough for me."

Duke smirked, two back-to-back compliments from Snake-Eyes had to set some kind of record as far as he's concerned. "Gee, when you say stuff like that, Snake-Eyes, it gives me a warm fuzzy right here," he said, patting his chest.

Snake-Eyes scowled. "Just don't expect the courtesy of a reach-around."

They arrived at the barracks and entered the lounge where they came upon Stalker, Rock n' Roll, and Zap eating in silence. Duke and Snake-Eyes each took a soda out of the cooler and joined them.

Snake-Eyes opened the bottle cap and spat it on the floor. "Why the long faces, ladies? I thought you girls would be happy to be getting home."

"Naw, we're just waiting for the other shoe to drop," Zap said. "The last time we got worked up, you gave us all blue balls with that '99.9 percent' bullshit speech."

With an unapologetic smile, Snake-Eyes took a seat at a table away from the others. Reclining back in the chair, he rested his feet on the tabletop as he took a pair of dice out of his pocket. "The Southern Army 18th is making a stand at Xuan Loc. From the level of resistance, we know that they're not going to be able to hold off the NVA."

Rock n' Roll stroked his beard."Xuan Loc? That's less than sixty kliks from Saigon."

"Yea, so central command is getting antsy. They want us out now. The chopper is already on its way from the Kitty Hawk."

"So, why isn't Preacher here?" asked Duke.

Snake-Eyes threw the dice on the table. He scooped them up and rattled them in his hand again, "He was given a special furlough back in town. He'll catch a ride back with Colonel Hawk tonight."

Zap regarded Duke's quizzical expression at Snake-Eyes' cryptic answer. He changed the subject before Duke could press the issue. "Stalker was just about to tell us his plans when we get back home when you two walked in, Snakes."

Stalker shrugged his shoulders. "It's no big. I thought I'd try my hand at Special Forces."

"You're not fooling anyone." Zap elbowed him. "You just want an excuse to wear those cute beanies."

"What can I say? Chicks dig the beret – just ask your mother."

"I, for one, can't wait to hit the beach and pick up where I left off: pumping some iron and working on my tan," said Rock n' Roll

"Well, I'm going to try the private sector: anything that involves blowing something up," said Zap.

"You guys don't want to stick with it like Stalker?" asked Duke.

"And do what?" Rock n' Roll snorted. "Zap and me are specialists, not Rangers."

"It's the wave of the future. With the way things are going now, there's going to be a demand for small specialized support groups. I even hear that SOCOM is trying to put together an all-purpose interservice unit."

"Swabbies and Jarheads working with the Army?" Zap said, shaking his head. "That'll be the day."

"If this mission has proved anything, it's that the face of warfare is changing," said Duke.

"Humph, nothing ever changes," Snake-Eyes said. Warfare will always be about someone giving orders and someone taking a bullet."

"That's a jaded view coming from someone in your line of work," Duke said.

"My 'line of work' will always be to minimize the number of grunts that have to take that bullet."

"Thankfully, that's no longer an issue given that we're between wars now. What are your plans for the future?"

"Plan?" Snake-Eyes threw the dice on the table again. A smirk came across his face as two single pips stared back at him. "I plan on living forever—"

His dice fell off the table as an explosion rocked the building. The lights flickered and then dimmed before the backup generators kicked in.

Snake-Eyes bolted to his feet. "What was that you were saying about being between wars?"

After retrieving their weapons from the armory, K Company headed for the command bunker to meet up with Hawk. It was chaotic outside. Southern Army soldiers scrambled to get to their battle stations. More explosions set off around the base as the unit traversed the buildings. They arrived at Hawk's office; he was being briefed by a liaison officer.

"Where do you want us Hawk?" asked Snake-Eyes.

"Right here. Remember, we are official non-combatants. Reports are sketchy so far, but this appears to be just panic fire with no clear indication of a specific target. It's doubtful that a large NVA contingent made it this far south, it's probably a couple of guys lurking on the outer perimeter testing us."

The phone on Hawk's desk rang. He picked it up and spoke briefly to the person on the other side.

"That was security on the phone; four intruders penetrated medical."

"They must be after Destro," Duke said. "That's where we have his body packed on ice."

"So, the panic fire was a diversion," Snake-Eyes mused. "Is it VC or NVA?"

"Neither. They wore masks and were dressed in blue battle fatigues."

"Destro routinely employs mercenaries: ex-Foreign Legion commandos," said Duke. "They're no doubt on his payroll."

"There's no way a four-man team can carry a body _and_ cover their escape. They must have an exit strategy," said Snake-Eyes.

"Aw, man! It's gotta be an air extraction!" Rock n' Roll exclaimed.

"No way," Stalker replied. "They would need some serious firepower for that."

"Have you already forgotten about their gunship that had us pinned down outside of the Badlands?" said Rock n' Roll.

Hawk snapped to. "What gunship?"

"It looked like a Choctaw—"

"He means a Sikorsky H-34," Stalker said, interrupting. "They're ancient."

"Maybe so, but the bitch had teeth with twin 50 cals and a _Mighty Mouse._ "

Hawk reached into his desk and pulled out his M1911 pistol. "We can't take any chances. We've risked too much to just let them waltz in here and take the body."

Rock n' Roll took point as K Company traversed the base to the medical compound. On the way, they where met by a security team. As they approached, they could see signs of a firefight. When they got to the building, they had to wait until the security team secured it before they were allowed inside. Snake-Eyes, Duke and Hawk entered first followed by Zap, Stalker and Rock n' Roll. The dead bodies of the medical staff were still seated at their desks, shot before they had time to react.

They arrived at the morgue. The body of Destro had been taken out and laid on the main examination table. The head had been removed. There was a message written in a foreign language on the adjacent wall. It was written using copious amounts of blood.

Snake-Eyes almost slipped on the wet floor as he walked past the body. "Sloppy amateurs."

Zap covered his nose. "Why did they take the head and leave the body?"

"Obviously to evade identification," said Duke. "We were getting too close." He then examined the writing on the wall.

"So, while we were out there scratching our asses, waiting to repel a gunship, they must've slipped out under our noses with the head," Snake-Eyes said.

"And they left something behind too," said Zap, taking note of the sanguine graffiti. "It looks like it's written in blood?"

Duke pursed his lips as he struggled to read the writing, "It's standard Chinese... _which, if not victory, is yet revenge_."(1)

"What does it mean?" Zap asked.

"It's a challenge," said Hawk.

Stalker shook his head in confusion, "But, for whom? Any why in Chinese? Why not Vietnamese – or even English: they know we're American."

"The only person in your unit that speaks Chinese is Preacher," Duke said, pondering the significance of the words.

"You think they're going after Preacher?" Zap said, warily.

Duke shook his head. "No. The fact that they left it _here_ means that they expected him to be _here_ to read it." He regarded Hawk, saying, "They're going to _Cholon_ aren't they?"

Hawk returned the glare. "Duke, I want you to take Rock n' Roll and Zap; round up some troops, and see if you can track down those mercenaries... Snake-Eyes and Stalker, I want you two to go into Saigon to back up Preacher."

"With respect, Colonel," Duke interrupted. "If they're going to Cholon, they need someone who can speak Mandarin. I'm the logical choice."

Snake-Eyes snorted. "What about your precious Destro?"

"The team is more important." Duke replied.

Hawk nodded approvingly. "Stalker, do you think you can you handle the mercenaries?"

"No sweat, boss."

"Ok, then, Duke, you're with Snake-Eyes. I'll call the embassy and see if they can spare some Marines to meet you there."

They left the medical bunker. Once outside, before splitting up, Snake-Eyes stopped to regard his teammates one last time. He was not the type of leader that gave pep-talks, but the looks that he gave each of his men expressed all the sentiments that words could not.

"Kilo Company, sound off!"

K Company replied in unison, "YO KILO!"

The men marched off to their destiny.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Preacher parked outside of the Bistro in Cholon. He walked around his jeep to the passenger side where his daughter was seated, playing with her new toy. She giggled as she jumped into his arms. He tried to put her down so that she could walk, but when she protested, he relented and carried her instead.

"Did you have fun?" he said in English.

" _Phoon_?"

"No, 'fun'... can you say 'fun'?"

" _Thun_?" She smiled wide, showing the gap where her two front teeth should be.

He returned her smile. "Close enough."

When he entered the Bistro, he was met by the Hostess dressed in pink and cerulean. When the little girl saw her grandfather, she ran over to him – stumbling a few times on the way. The grandfather, busy repairing a section of wallpaper that had become unglued, didn't notice her at first. She tugged on his robe and showed him a toy that her daddy had bought for her. He picked her up and spun her around playfully before setting her back down. He looked toward the entrance of the bistro: to his disdain, he saw Preacher was still there. He did not acknowledge him.

Preacher too ignored the old man. Averting his attention instead to other side of the bistro. There was a single customer seated in the corner with his back to him. He thought it was odd that the customer was wearing a large hakama with a silk overcoat. He concluded, from the raiment, that the customer was Japanese.

"Business is slow?" he said to the hostess, in Chinese.

"Many have left the area out of fear."

"A reasonable precaution; it would be advisable for you to do the same."

She shook her head, saying, "No, father will not leave, and I must stay with him,"

"He is a stubborn old fool."

"And you are just like him," she said, smiling. "I think that is why _my sister_ fell in love with you."

Preacher blushed at first, but then his countenance grew somber. "My unit is leaving tonight. I must go with them."

"I understand. What are you going to do?"

"When my obligation to them is over, I'm going to resign and come back for my daughter."

She looked over to her father, the old man, playing with the little girl. "His granddaughter is all that is left of my sister. I fear that he will not let go easily."

"Nor can I."

"Take care that your daughter does not become another casualty in this private war between you and my father."

"What do you mean?"

"It was not the childbirth that killed my sister, but rather her heart could not take the strain of being pulled between my father's Yin and your Yang."

He bowed his head. "Your words are wise; I will dwell on them."

She lowered her eyes. "I am humbled."

"If I write, will you read to her."

"Of course. She is my niece."

"I am in your debt."

He regarded his daughter from across the room one last time and left reluctantly. The walk back to his jeep was the longest of his life. He sat in the car, but he couldn't bring himself to drive away. Instead, he pondered as he stared at the Bistro from the outside. _Six months..._

An eternity. Will she even remember him?

VROOM! VROOM!

The sounds of a roaring engine and screeching tires brought Preacher out of his thoughts. Before he could react, a blue sedan T-boned his jeep, flipping the vehicle on its side. Preacher unbuckled his set belt and fell out, lying on the pavement and gasping for air.

Two police officers came on the scene, having witnessed the accident. As they approached, the driver of the sedan, wearing a gold sash, greeted them. The passenger, wearing a black shirt, checked on Preacher. The policemen talked to _Gold_ - _Sash_ in Vietnamese, but Gold-Sash only responded in Japanese; as a result, they did not understand each other.

 _Black_ - _Shirt_ examined Preacher, and he gave a signal to his partner. Gold-Sash smiled, pulled out a short sword from under his sash, and sliced open the chest of the nearest policeman. The remaining officer ran away screaming. Gold-Sash threw his sword, lodging it expertly in the back of his fleeing victim. He walked over to the slain officer to retrieve his sword and regarded the surrounding neighborhood; any onlookers had since retreated inside, locking their doors out of fear.

Gold-Sash met Black-Shirt who knelt over the semi-conscious Preacher. He raised his sword to strike, but Black-Shirt immediately rose to stop him.

"No, he is for Tho to finish," he said in Japanese.

"So, this is the one who opposed _Tho_?" Scoffing, Gold-Sash kicked Preacher over onto his back. "I am not impressed."

When Preacher heard Tho's name, a surge of adrenaline shot through his body. He punched Gold-Sash's knee, causing him to lose his balance. He vaulted to his feet and punched the elbow, causing him to drop his sword. He then grabbed him by the sash and pushed him into Black-Shirt.

Both assassins stumbled over each other. Preacher pressed his advantage and rushed them with a flying kick. Gold-Sash rolled out the way as Preacher soared over him, forcing Preacher to change his focus to Black-Shirt since he was still in range.

He tackled Black-Shirt and brought his elbow down hard on the clavicle. The bone made a loud 'pop' when the point of his elbow snapped it in twain. Black-Shirt fell to the ground in agony. Preacher saw Gold-Sash charging. He chambered his arm to shield his ribs from Gold-Sash's kick. The extra meat and bone provided sufficient padding, but the force of the kick sent him stumbling into a nearby lamppost, knocking the wind out of him again.

Preacher climbed to his feet, slumped against the post, while Gold-Sash retrieved his sword. Gold-Sash charged, and Preacher let his legs go limp, relying on gravity to pull him down to duck under the sword aimed for his neck. On the way down, he jabbed Gold-Sash's groin as the blade of his sword lodged into the lamppost. The assassin doubled-over and fell on top of him. Preacher pulled a .38 out of his ankle holster and jammed it under the assassin's chin:

_BLAM!_

The explosion of the gunpowder was deafening. Preacher's ears were ringing, but he was grateful that he couldn't hear what he saw with his eyes. For the bullet tore through the throat and severed the tongue at its base. The force from the wake of the projectile caused the tongue shoot out of the mouth. The bullet traveled through the sinus cavity; the mounting pressure caused the eyeballs to dislodge and dangle out of their orbs. The dense bone and flesh slowed the bullet's fatal trek just enough to spare the skull from an exit wound. However, it could not stop the brains from being liquefied as the bullet stirred into the grey-matter like a whisk.

He pushed the corpse off him and turned his pistol to Black-Shirt, who was trying in vain to hold his shoulder together. When he saw Preacher aim the weapon, he looked him in the eyes, showing no emotion. Preacher returned his glare:

_BLAM!_

Blood was everywhere; Preacher felt his stomach working backwards. He rolled over onto his side and threw-up onto the pavement. His hearing slowly started to return as he was now able to detect the muffled sounds of screams coming from the Bistro.

He composed himself quickly, spitting out the last bits of undigested vomitus that coated the roof of his mouth, and he rose to his feet. He took the sword lodged in the lamppost and a baton from one of the slain officers. Given what was at stake, failure was not an option. He prayed silently as he entered the Bistro:

 _The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; the God of my strength, in Him I will trust, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold and my refuge; my Savior, You save me from violence._ (2)

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Duke turned off the CB radio and put the receiver back on the hook. "That was Hawk... the embassy can't spare any Marines."

"Looks like we're on our own," said Snake-Eyes, blaring the horn. Without slowing down, he cut the wheel and sped into the oncoming lane to cut around a slow-moving bus.

Duke released his grip from the side of the Jeep when they where stable again. "So, what's the story with Preacher?"

"It's personal," Snake-Eyes replied, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Hey, I'm risking my life here too. I think we're past personal."

"How did you figure it out anyway?"

"Its one of the first things I learned in Language School: native speakers don't code-switch to their local dialects unless there is an intimate familiarity between them. I didn't have to understand what Preacher was saying in the Bistro the other day to know that he had an uncommon relationship with the people in that community."

Snake-Eyes snorted. "Einstein strikes again."

Duke curled his lip. "I imagine this is over a girl. Is it the hostess? They seemed friendly."

"No, wrong girl: Preacher's woman died during childbirth."

" _Childbirth..._ So, this is about the little kid with the flower? How did this happen?"

"Preacher's father was a Chaplain stationed in Okinawa. Pops fell in love with a hippie Greenpeace chick that ran an orphanage in Naha. They married and had Preacher. A few years later, the mother went back to the States, and Preacher stayed with his dad. He practically grew up around the dojos. By the time he was ten, he was fluent in three languages."

"That explains some things."

"When he was seventeen, he lied on his application to enlist so he could fight in Vietnam. He was a natural; I took him along with Stalker, under my wing and trained them to be Lurps. He was turning out to be the best field commando I've ever seen, but being young, he got stupid and fell in love. He always had an affinity for Asians."

"How did Hawk handle it?"

"He came down on him _hard_. I was able to convince Hawk to keep him in the unit, but it was a mess. And it only got worse: when his woman died, _her_ father was awarded custody of the child since they were never properly married."

"So, the old man from the restaurant is the child's grandfather?"

"Yes."

"What about common-law?"

"The rules are different here. I figure, she didn't want to go against her father's wishes and get married without his blessing."

"I can't believe they couldn't come up with a compromise."

"Preacher and his father-in-law don't exactly get along."

"Surely the Army has polices for this sort of thing?"

"The Army had a war to run; they had better things to do. But, he did get visitation rights; us guys in the unit tried to help him out by using any excuse we could to get him into town without using up his leave."

Duke grinned with a realization. "Like that 'traditional' pre-mission meal?"

"Exactly. But, since we're pulling out, it's doubtful that he'll ever get to see her again. Like I said, it never did sit well with the old man that his daughter got knocked-up by a foreigner."

Duke sighed. "FUBAR."

Snake-Eyes nodded. "FUBAR."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Stalker's team moved swiftly through the tall grass. They were accompanied by a squad of Southern Army soldiers and followed the tracks left by the mercenaries. They stopped briefly as Stalker crouched to examine a blood trail left in the grass. The trail had been easy to follow:

_Too easy... they're going for speed._

Stalker signaled to his team by putting his hand over his mouth: there would be no more verbal communication. He then raised his fist to his shoulder and pumped his arm up-and-down in rapid succession. In understanding, the team started to march double-time behind him foregoing any cover. Two kliks later, they arrived at the edge of a ridge; Stalker raised his fist high in the air; the men halted.

Zap approached Stalker and signed, _I_ _know that look. What is it?_

 _There's a paddy field over this ridge. That's where they're heading,_ he signed in return.

_Why would they go there? There's no cover._

_Rock's right about it being a chopper extraction. They're making a break for an LZ._

Stalker raised his fist in the air again, and then opened his palm. The men immediately spread out over the ridge.

-oOo-

"I _ssssee_ them coming from over the ridge with your _package_ ahead of _sssschedule_. Bludd's mercenaries are very efficient."

"They better be for the price," said the son. "And you seem to be right at home _commanding_ them in Bludd's absence."

The stranger remained silent and signaled the pilot to prepare for liftoff. Looking through his binoculars from the safety of the helicopter, he continued to monitor the four-man squad as they approached. Their point man stood up from the brush and gave the all-clear signal. The rest of the team stood up and started to march double-time to the chopper. Suddenly he heard 'popping' sounds in the distance. There was a pink mist, and two of the mercs fell still to the ground. The remaining two knuckled down and returned fire toward an unseen enemy.

The son perked when he heard the sounds of gunfire. "What happened?"

" _Sssnipers_." He gestured to one of the gunners. "Lay down _ssssupression_ fire to cover their escape."

The gunner obeyed and fired a volley toward the enemy's position. More shots were heard from the other side of the field; an explosion several feet away rocked the chopper.

A second gunner came to cover their flank. "They're coming in from multiple fronts, trying to pinch us, sir!"

The stranger pointed to the squad leader covering their forward position. "You there! Go retrieve the package!"

The son rose from his seat. "Belay that."

"What are you doing? It's not _ssssafe_ out there. Leave this to the underlings!"

"No", the son replied. "This is _my_ responsibility."

The son stepped off the helicopter and into the tall grass. He stood tall, too proud to bow beneath the vortex of the rotors. The brat _,_ worn over his shoulder, swayed in the wind, displaying his family colors like a flag. He marched across the muddy field to the salute of gunfire and exploding ordnance. A trail of blood, diffused into the marsh, lay before him like a red carpet. At the end of his march lay a dying soldier. His mission accomplished, the soldier handed the son his birthright, and breathed his last. The son took what was his with reverence, regarding his reflection in the polished steel mask. A stray bullet nicked the top of the mask; the resulting vibrations echoed: his father's wails from beyond the grave. The son used the key tied around his neck to unlock the mask at its base. He removed the head inside and regarded his father's face one last time. His father's empty, half-open eyes stared back. A tear ran down his cheek, and he dropped his father's remains into marsh. He then held the empty mask high over his head and screamed to the heavens, _Fear gu aois_. He continued to chant in Gaelic as he slowly and deliberately put the mask on. Electric motors and servos locked it into place.

Destro made his way back to the helicopter. Turning into the wind caused the brat to loose from his belt and flow behind him like a cape. The tall grass bowed before him in the breeze created by the rotors. Bullets whizzed by his head and shot around his feet, but they did not dare assail his person. They were beneath his notice. The sun came out from behind the clouds, as if awakened by the pomp and circumstance of war. To any onlookers from afar, the rays reflecting off the mask gave the appearance of a halo of fire. Like Helios made flesh, he stepped into his sky chariot, and his men closed ranks behind him.

The stranger eyed him respectfully. "What are your orders, _Lord_ _Desssstro_?"

"Take off."

The stranger's eyes narrowed, "You're not going to _desssstroy_ them?"

"We've delivered Tho's message; our obligation to him is at an end."

"But they are _ressssponsible_ for your father's death."

"I will not inaugurate my vengeance in a rice field. Moreover, there are formalities that must be observed within my family that I cannot ignore."

-oOo-

Stalker's team watched the chopper rise and disappear into the sky. Stalker and Zap went over to the area to search for clues while Rock n' Roll broke off with the Southern Army troops to check the enemy LZ.

Once Rock n' Roll secured the area, he rejoined to the others. "All men are accounted for – no casualties."

"What do we do now?" said Zap.

Stalker kicked a dead mercenary over onto its back and checked its pockets. "The mission is scrubbed. We're going back."

Rock n' Roll picked the father's head up out of the marsh by the hair. "At least we stopped them from getting away with Destro's remains."

Stalker arched an eyebrow, noticing that the disembodied head was without its mask. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, Rock."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Snake-Eyes and Duke arrived at the bistro. The street looked like a war zone with bodies scattered everywhere. Snake-Eyes slowed the car to a crawl. They didn't have the luxury of securing the area, but it appeared that they were alone. Duke caught a glimpse of drapes closing in a window across the street.

"There's Preacher's Jeep," said Snake-Eyes. He parked next to the overturned vehicle. They both got out and split up to examine the area.

"We have an audience," said Duke.

Snake-Eyes nodded. He knelt over one of the assassins. "The good news is Preacher is not among the dead. These two took a bullet to the head."

"But, the police were carved up like a couple of Thanksgiving turkeys... What gives?"

In answer, Snake-Eyes pulled out a short-sword hidden on one of the assassins.

"A sword? What in the hell are they doing with swords?"

"You're asking me?"

"Well, they don't look like VC, and they're not dressed like the mercs that attacked the base."

"No, but they're definitely out-of-towners," said Duke. He noticed a tattoo on the arm of one of the dead assassins, and added, "If I were to guess, I would say they're Japanese.

"Japs, eh?"

Both men turned their heads in the direction of the bistro in response to the sounds of the battle within.

"Looks like the party's still going," said Duke. "Preacher must have gone after the others inside the Bistro. I get the impression that these guys aren't simple villagers armed with machetes. How is he against swords?"

"I didn't train him to use a sword. But, he did grow up around some weird Okinawan shit."

Duke and Snake-Eyes penetrated the back of the bistro. They kicked the door down and entered via the kitchen. When they got to the dining hall, they happened upon the old man surrounded by swordsmen dressed in black.

 _Old-Man_ wielded a spear as he fended off the attackers. Although, he did more than hold his own: every time he swung his weapon, his attackers gave ground. Snake-Eyes took point, and he joined the battle. With twin Uzi's in hand, he sprayed the room with bullets to provide cover for Old-Man. Duke acted as backup with his shotgun, taking out two assassins with one shot as they flanked Snake-Eyes.

"Thanks."

Before Duke could reply, a truck crashed through the front of the restaurant. Duke, Old-Man and Snake-Eyes dove for cover behind the counter as glass and other debris showered the room. Duke peeked around the corner; he saw more assassins exit the van. He drew his head back behind the wall in time to avoid a flash of metal that missed him and lodged into the baseboard. He pulled the star-shaped object out of the wood and examined it.

"Shuriken," Old-Man said, in answer to Duke's perplexed looks.

"Don't these guys know that this is the twentieth century?" said Snake-Eyes.

Old-Man put his spear aside and reached into a hidden panel under the counter. He retrieved a ringed broadsword and a sash that he tied around his waist. He spoke to Duke in Mandarin. Duke nodded and pulled Snake-Eyes aside.

"What did he say?" said Snake-Eyes.

"He said to go upstairs and help Preacher. He'll guard our rear," Duke replied.

"What about him?"

In reply, Old-Man retrieved a dagger hidden under his sash. He rose from behind the counter, and with a flick of his wrist:

_CHA-THUNK!_

The dagger found its mark in one of the attacker's temples.

Duke brushed past Snake-Eyes. "I think he has things under control here."

The two broke off from the dining area and found the stairs leading to the second floor. More dead bodies littered the hallway. As they searched the rooms, halfway down the hall, they came across the hostess slumped to the floor. Her pink and cerulean dress was stained with red. Her severed arm lay next to her in a pool of blood. She was still alive, but her breathing was shallow. Duke knelt next her, took off his belt and tied it around her stump. When she came to, she started to scream and lash out. Duke grabbed her arm and spoke to her in Mandarin until she calmed down. When she recognized the soldiers, she started pleading with Duke.

"What is she saying?" asked Snake-Eyes.

"She said that Preacher is on the roof."

She then grabbed Duke's lapel and started ranting frantically before she lost consciousness.

Snake-Eyes shot Duke a worrisome look. "What's wrong?"

Duke listened, struggling to translate her waning ramblings. "I don't know... it's some kind of warning: _The Ninja has her_."

"What is a _Ninja_?"

"I don't know. It's possible that I heard wrong; it was hard to understand her.

Duke took off his jacket, folded it and laid her head atop it. He searched some of the adjoining rooms and came back with a blanket. He wrapped her in the blanket and picked her up in his arms.

"What are you doing? We have to go!"

"She's going into shock. If I don't treat her, she'll die." He took note that the sounds of the battle below were getting louder. "Go ahead, I'll cover your rear and join you when I can."

Snake-Eyes went to the staircase leading to the floors above while Duke tended to the hostess.

-oOo-

"Where is she, Tho?"

Preacher followed Tho out to the middle of the roof away from his bodyguards. Tho drew his katana from its sheath and ceremoniously stabbed it into the floor. Likewise, Preacher threw away the weapons he was carrying. The loose-fitting hakama that Tho wore draped over him. He pulled his arms in and crossed them under his robe as he regarded Preacher with a sneer.

"In order to see the child again, you must defeat me in personal combat."

Preacher squared off, digging the balls of his feet into the flooring. His fists clenched at his sides as he prepared to sprint. Without regard for strategy, Preacher rushed him. All he wanted to do was knock that arrogant smirk off his face.

Tho gave ground and shifted his torso slightly, at alternating angles, to dodge the furious combinations that Preacher threw at him. He squatted to duck a spinning back kick aimed for his head. He then caught the foot on the return and threw it violently out of joint. Preacher twisted in mid-air with the throw, spinning his body to pronate the joints in his leg back into alignment.

Tho followed the energy of battle, kicking to sweep Preacher's feet as they alit on the ground. Having his legs thrown out from under him caused Preacher to fall hard on his back. Tho sneered. "Your tricks will not serve you here."

Preacher spun on his back, kicking as he vaulted to his feet. Tho hopped out of range of Preacher's jumping-spinning back-kick. He taunted Preacher with small movements and blocks: it was like trying to punch water. This served to enrage Preacher further. He feinted toward Tho's midsection, then spun around with a furious back fist that connected with the side of his skull.

Tho turned with the attack and recovered in time to catch another haymaker. He twisted Preacher's arm at the wrist and redirected the soldier's momentum to flip him on his back.

Preacher rolled with the flip and came about on his feet. He was breathing heavily, having wasted too much energy, spurring him to rethink his strategy. He glanced at the sword sticking out of the floor. In desperation, he made a break for the weapon.

Tho's speed was incredible. Even though Preacher had a head start, by the time he reached the sword, they were already neck-and-neck. Preacher dove and grabbed the hilt a split-second before Tho. His momentum was sufficient to pry the sword out of the floor as he rolled to his feet. He somersaulted backwards and landed behind Tho.

Before Tho could turn around, Preacher drove the sword into him from behind. Tho arched his back and screamed the sword feasted. When Preacher saw blood trickle down the blade from Tho's back, he twisted it for good measure, allowing himself a smile of satisfaction.

"Now tell me where my daughter is you bastard, or I swear to God I'll run you through!"

Preacher kept a tight grip on the katana as Tho answered him with more protracted screaming. Looking around, he thought it was strange that Tho's henchman had not come to his aid. He then slowly began to realize that they were not screams of pain, but screams of triumph. A sickness washed over him that struck him at the core of his soul. He regarded Tho's back: there was a strange movement under his hakama top. Tho drew his arms into his robe, unfastened his obi and threw his top off.

Preacher was subjected to a sight that no father should ever have to see: his daughter strapped to the back of his mortal enemy; the sword in his hand plunged into his child's chest.

_Oh my God...This isn't happening..._

She kicked in vain against the straps. Her hands grabbed onto the sword, trying to pull it out; slicing her little fingers against the edge of the blade in the process. Her mouth was tapped shut, denying him the sound of her voice. He struggled to pull the sword out, but his hands were shaking. He looked away. The horror on her face and the pleading look in her eyes was more than he could bear.

Tho unfastened the straps and threw her off. As the girl fell, Preacher released the katana and dove to catch her.

He sat there, powerless, with her in his arms, watching the light fade from her eyes, _Not her too...you can't take her away from me too._ He tried to scream, but was denied even that simple luxury. All that his paralyzed vocal chords could manage was a raspy hiss.

Tho snapped his fingers and two henchmen came to his side. The first henchman blotted the sweat from his body with a towel. The second underling clothed him in a fresh shirt. He looked down at Preacher with contempt, saying, "I told you that you would pay in blood."

Tho retrieved his sword and circled Preacher, casually twirling the blade. Preacher was oblivious to his presence. Not one to be ignored, Tho slowly slid the tip of his blade between Preacher's second and third ribs. Preacher did not resist as the sword cut through skin and muscle, piercing the left-upper lung and popping it like a balloon. He stopped when Preacher winced involuntarily, satisfied that he now had the soldier's attention:

"Arrogant American trash. You come from across the ocean and presume to teach the ways of war, when in fact it is _you_ that has learned its first lesson: there is no greater _shield_ than your enemy's love. If you surround yourself with that which he cherishes, then you will become _invincible_."

Tho raised his sword, ready to give the killing blow. He regarded Preacher one last time, and his lips quivered, and his voice cracked, saying, "The man that you killed in the bunker last night was my son!"

Preacher closed his eyes in anticipation of the sweet release.

"THO!"

Snake-Eyes sprinted onto the roof wielding an Uzi in each hand. Tho retreated to the ledge while his guards swarmed in to protect him with their swords drawn.

Snake-Eyes fired into the guards as he rushed them. Not one bullet hit its mark. The guards advanced upon him slowly. Their intuition was uncanny: every time Snake-Eyes fired his weapons they jumped out of the line of fire. He screamed in frustration as they taunted him in foreign curses. Although he couldn't hit them, they stayed back at a distance.

_They're waiting me out._

He ejected his clips and retreated behind an air intake. While he reloaded, he regarded Preacher across the roof.

"Preacher, snap out of it!"

Preacher did not respond. He looked back toward the roof entrance, _What's taking Duke so long_? Unfortunately, from the sounds of the gunfire below, Duke probably had his hands full. He was alone; if he was going to survive, he had to change tactics. Someone threw a smoke grenade: they were coming. He wondered how they were able to dodge the bullets.

_How the hell can they leap in the air so fast?_

A smile creeped across his face.

He threw away his UZI. _A crutch_. He Retrieved his pistol. _Precision._ And he stepped out from behind the intake and walked slowly into the mist. He held the gun in his right hand with it pointed straight out in front of him. He gripped his right wrist with his left hand for support. When he saw the first guard, he resisted the urge to shoot and remained relaxed. Finally the guard rushed him and leapt into the air with his sword drawn.

BLAM!

The bullet found its mark, and the guard fell to the ground dead. He heard voices surrounding him. He tracked a wisp of displaced smoke overhead with his pistol.

BLAM!

The guard screamed in surprise as the bullet tore into him. He fell with a thud onto the rooftop and thrashed around in the throes of death.

BLAM!

Another bullet found its target. Snake-Eyes was now the hunter. His smile broadened.

_Like shooting skeet._

When the last of the guards was dispatched, he approached Tho, his pistol aimed directly at the murderer's heart.

"Most impressive," said Tho. He stood tall and relaxed with his hands clasped behind his back.

Snake-Eyes cocked the hammer and trained the cross-hairs between Tho's eyes. "You shouldn't bring knives to a gunfight—"

BLAM!

Snake-Eyes flinched as he felt a hot prick in his neck. Then the sensation of a warm wetness rushed over his chest. He brought his hands to his throat and could feel his life's blood spurting out in time with his pulse. He tried to curse, but could only manage a 'gurgling' sound. He fell to his knees, clutching his throat.

Tho sneered. "That sounds like excellent advice."

Snake-Eyes peered into the haze to see the outlines of more guards stepping into view. Still more guards appeared from over the ledge, having scaled the wall from the other side. They were armed with rifles. He lost his pistol. His only chance was to make a run for the air vent. On pure adrenaline, he rose to his feet and lumbered for cover.

BLAM!

A round tore into his thigh. He fell to the ground. Ignoring the pain, he dragged himself along – if he could just make it to his UZIs, he could take a few of the bastards with him.

One of the guards caught up to him, aiming the rifle point blank at the back of his head. He knew what was coming next, but that didn't stop him from continuing to crawl defiantly to the air vent. He clenched his teeth when he heard the bolt pull back on the guards AK-47:

CHA-THUNK!

Snake-Eyes looked over his shoulder at the source of the strange sound. The guard standing over him had a throwing dagger sticking out of his forehead. His eyes rolled up into their sockets, and he slumped to the ground.

Duke and Old-Man had made it to the roof. Duke laid down suppression fire, and Old-Man ran to Snake-Eyes, dragging him to the air vent. Snake-Eyes was barely conscious and had trouble breathing. When he saw the damage to his neck, Old-Man took out one of his throwing daggers, and used the blade to make an incision at the base of the soldier's throat. He then bit off the head of the dagger and inserted the hollow bamboo shaft into the incision. Snake-Eyes coughed up some blood and started breathing again. Old-Man continued to work on him, ripping his sleeve off and wrapping it around the neck in order to control the bleeding.

Duke reloaded and gestured toward Preacher. Old-Man nodded, and Duke came from behind cover to lay down another volley suppression fire. Old-Man sheathed his broadsword, and ran. Snake-Eyes picked up one of his UZIs and assisted Duke. Tho and his guards dove for cover.

Old-Man used the cover of the crossfire to make it to Preacher. He shook him, but Preacher did not respond. He looked into his son-in-laws eyes and saw life, but no signs of humanity. Then he looked down to regard the lifeless form of his granddaughter. It was then, for one brief moment, that the noise of the firefight was paled in comparison to one man's screams of despair.

Old-Man's angst caught the attention of Tho, who monitored the firefight from the safety of ledge. His eyes narrowed when he saw this peasant of a restaurant owner rush one of his troopers. Before the trooper could aim his weapon properly, he was decapitated with one clean stroke from a broadsword. The disembodied head rolled to Tho's feet, and he kicked it aside, not once taking his eyes off Old-Man; nor he him. Tho set in his stance as Old-Man ran straight toward him. The sole guard that remained between them aimed his rifle and fired. However, Old-Man's broadsword was wide enough to use as a shield while he closed the distance. Before the guard could pop off another burst, Old-Man leapt past him like a flitting grasshopper. The guard's body turned to face him for another shot, but his head had other plans as it peeled back and fell over, dangling off the base of the neck by a flap of skin.

Tho gripped the handle of his katana, but kept it sheathed even as Old-Man stood mere feet in front of him. "Who are you?"

"Your Death!"

Bullets continued to whiz by randomly, no more that white noise to these swordmasters. Everything beyond their gaze was irrelevant. Life and death were mere concepts. Neither one moved, yet the duel was already well underway. There they stood, unflinching, neither's Qi willing to yield. There could be no room for error: a mental map of each strike is made; possible avenues of escape are accounted for. Once the sword is drawn, it is committed to follow the path laid out for it.

Metal scraped against scabbard in stereo; even to an adept eye, it would have been impossible to discern who drew first.

Tho drew his katana backhanded, aiming for the legs. He was denied his target as Old-Man had already leapt into the air with his broadsword raised high. Tho reversed the grip on his sword and brought it up to defend his head. He released his scabbard, enabling his free hand to re-enforce his grip just in time to block the razor-sharp death aimed for the top of his skull. When their swords _kissed,_ Tho angled his katana downward, skimming the broadsword harmlessly down the length of his blade, like rain trickling off of a rooftop.

Old-Man was left overextended when he landed with his left side exposed. Tho spun around, angling his sword to decapitate, but Old-Man tilted his neck in time to duck the slash, rolling his head around-and-under, then coming about to lunge for Tho's belly.

Tho used his momentum to twist out of the way and bring his weapon down to parry the thrust aimed for his abdomen. Swords, eyes, and Qi death-locked for what seemed like an eternity. Tho sneered when he detected a hint of a tremble in his enemy's sword and a bead of sweat trickling down his brow. Using all of his strength, he pushed off with his katana and charged, digging his shoulder into Old-Man's chest.

Old-Man stumbled, but recovered by rolling out of range. Tho continued his advance while swinging his sword furiously in a figure-eight motion. All that Old-Man could do was roll in order to stay ahead of the charge. Every time he came about, he raised his broadsword to use it as a shield. And every time, his arm complained from having to support the weight of his weapon coupled with the force absorbed from each block.

Tho stopped his advance when he had him backed up against the opposite ledge. Using his broadsword for support, Old-Man rose slowly to his feet, clutching his chest and gasping for air.

"Your sword is heavy, and you are tired. You will not have my death today... _peasant."_ Tho signaled for two of his bodyguards to close ranks in front of him.

The guards drew their katanas and engaged Old-Man. With the last of his strength, he swung wide with his broadsword, disarming the guards. They retreated back and drew their guns. Old-Man staggered, his chest heaving. He watched helplessly as Tho turned his back to him, beneath his notice.

Tho retrieved his scabbard and, after wiping off the blade on the uniform of one of his slain troopers, sheathed his katana. "Kill them all, but save the one name Preacher for last," he said, evenly, and he disappeared over the side of the ledge.

-oOo-

Preacher sat calmly in the eye of the firestorm. He looked down on his daughter; her face looked peaceful as if she were asleep. A stray bullet entered the thorax of the corpse, forcing the remaining air out of the lungs; creating the illusion that it still breathed. He knew this was not possible, but the part of him that was still a father forced him to instinctively bend over to shield the remains with his body. Another stray bullet missed his head by inches, landing instead in his deltoid. He waited in anticipation, eager for that one well-placed shot that would take him out of this miserable existence of flesh.

_It won't be long now, baby. Soon I'll be with you and mommy. We'll be a family again and daddy will hug you and kiss you forever and ever._

-oOo-

From Duke's vantage point, he saw the tide of battle was not in their favor. Troops were closing in on Old-Man, and Snake-Eyes had passed out. Preacher was sitting in the center of the roof, but the enemy ignored him, as if he was invisible – he might as well have been. He checked the clip in his rifle. He then peeked around the edge of his cover and immediately drew back to avoid the hail of bullets.

He sniffed the air, and then spat on the ground. The enemy was poised to overrun his position and he had only _one_ bullet left. He took a stogie out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. He searched his pockets and cursed when he realized that he didn't have any matches left. He took his cigar, placed it next to the muzzle of his rifle and pulled the trigger:

BLAM!

The muzzle flash of the gun lit the stogie. He put it back in his mouth and closed his eyes as he took one last drag. Ignoring the bullets ricocheting around him, he kicked his head back and prayed. He prayed for America, he prayed for his fallen comrades, he prayed for his family – even his screw-up half-brother. A brisk breeze brought him out of his meditation – but it was more than a breeze. He slowly opened his eyes and gasped; God had sent him an Angel:

"YEEEEE-HAAAAW!"

Everyone on the roof looked skyward. A Huey hovered several feet overhead. The pilot's battle cry could be heard over the helicopter's loudspeaker. The bay doors slid open, and Hawk regarded his men pinned down and bleeding on the rooftop below. He popped the latch on the chain gun that was bolted to the cabin. He didn't look happy.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRAP!

The enemy scattered as Hawk poured a thousand rounds onto the rooftop from above. The ones that didn't jump over the side were torn apart.

When the roof was clear, Hawk gave the order to set down. Before the pilot, Wild Bill, could comply, a flight pod ascended from over the side of the building. The pod came within twenty-five feet of the chopper and hovered in place. Seated at the controls was General Tho; he had a smug expression on his face as he drew his hand across his neck, giving them the _kill_ sign.

"What in the Sam Hill is that?" said Wild Bill.

"Looks like _trubble,_ " Hawk replied.

Hawk swung the chain gun toward the pod and pulled the trigger. With a blast from the jets, Tho shot straight up into the air and out of the line of fire as he flew across the front of the chopper.

FZZAP!

A blue light, emanating from the pod, raked across the cockpit, leaving behind an orange scar of burning glass seared across Wild Bill's HUD. He instinctively took evasive action, gaining altitude on the flight pod.

"That sum'bitch just shot a _laser beam_ at my Huey!"

Wild Bill brought the copter about, keeping the Huey's gun-side facing the flight pod. Hawk fired the chain gun, but Tho had already darted out of the line of fire.

Hawk cursed when he missed the pod again. "Get me a shot, dammit!"

"I'm trying, sir, but that varmint is slipperier than the drawers off a _honeymoon bride_!"

FZZAP!

Smoke started to flood the cabin when the laser pierced the side of the hull. Hawk took off his jacket and tried to fan the smoke away from the cockpit.

"There's two things you just don't do to a Texan and get away with it: one is tellin' him that _ain't_ ain't no word, and the other is taking pot-shots at his lady."

"Soldier, you _do_ realize that this Huey is the property of the United States Government and is _not_ a woman?"

"Shucks, you and I know it, but don't let _her_ hear you say that, sir—Aw shoot, were did varmint go?"

Wild Bill banked sideways at full speed.

FZZAP!

The Huey moved out of the line of fire just in time to avoid a blast aimed at the rear rotor. Hawk grabbed onto some linkage to keep from falling over the side. He could feel the helicopter tremble from the stresses.

"We can't take much more from that laser!" he said.

"I have an idea sir, but you'll need to tie yourself to the cabin."

Hawk straddled the chain gun and secured himself with the surrounding linkage. "What do you have in mind?"

"Do you think you can shoot that thing upside-down?"

Hawk shot the pilot a sideways glance. "Er, have you ever done this before soldier?"

"Not sober."

Wild Bill lined up for another volley. As usual, before Hawk could fire, Tho easily passed over him and angled in for another attack run. He strafed the chopper's unarmed side, causing smoke to erupt from the tail assembly. A sneer came across Tho's face as the chopper started to violently barrel roll sideways. He licked his lips in anticipation of the chopper going into a tailspin. He started to revel in his victory, when he felt that something was amiss: in mid-roll, over the horizon of the chopper's belly, he saw Hawk's inverted face and wondered why he was grinning.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRAP!

Tho was in awe – its not everyday you get to see an upside-down helicopter. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind to turn his back to the hail of bullets, using the pod's engine as a shield. The pod shook as the bullets tore in to the turbine. The engine sputtered and smoke shot out of the exhaust. By the time the chopper completed its barrel-roll attack, the pod managed to stay in one piece, but it was fatally wounded. Tho struggled to regain control as he spun helplessly back to earth.

Wild Bill looked over the edge of his HUD to see the pod slam into the side of the Bistro. "Whoo-Wee! That sum'bitch blowed up real good!"

-oOo-

The smoke spewing from the side of the building obscured Dukes vision, yet he worked to control the bleeding from Snake-Eyes' wounds. The field tracheotomy allowed him to breathe, but he was already pale from blood loss. He glanced over at Preacher across the roof, he was still sitting up, so he assumed that his injuries were not as extensive. Thankfully, a strong gust of wind blew the smoke away. From the sound of the rotors, he could tell that the Huey was landing behind him.

Hawk approached with a stretcher and helped him to carry Snake-Eyes to the chopper. As they loaded him on the Huey, Old-Man met them, his unconscious daughter in tow. Duke took the hostess into his arms and placed her next to Snake-Eyes.

The three men then went over to Preacher. Old-Man took the lifeless child from Preacher's arms. Duke watched him as he walked away and disappeared into the stairway with his granddaughter never to come back.

Duke knelt next to Hawk and examined Preacher. He gasped when he saw the extent of the wounds. Preacher breathed in short rasps. Blood bubbled out from the laceration in his collapsed lung. His arms and legs were riddled with sword cuts and stray bullet holes. He sat in a pool of his daughter's blood mixed with his own. How he managed to stay conscious was a mystery. They placed him on the cot; his eyes were open, but his body was limp as dead weight.

Hawk ordered the chopper to lift off when everyone was safely aboard. Duke broke out the chopper's first-aid kit and continued to work on the injured.

"How does it look?" he asked.

Duke shook his head. "These people won't survive without immediate medical attention."

Hawk nodded. He turned to Wild Bill and ordered, "Head for the hospital nearest the embassy."

"Begging the Colonel's pardon, but my orders are to return to the Kitty Hawk."

"Belay that soldier, if your CO has a problem with that, then he can take it up with me."

Wild Bill obeyed and changed course. Duke checked Preacher's pupils with a small flashlight and felt for his pulse.

"What's wrong with him?" Hawk asked.

"I don't know. He's catatonic. It's like he's given up."

"Can you patch them up till we make it to the hospital?"

"The girl is stable. The men each have a 50-50 shot, but I can't treat them both."

Hawk's eyes softened. "Then choose one."

Duke glanced between Snake-Eyes and Preacher. He curled his lip in frustration, then began to work on Preacher. He opened his shirt and applied pressure to his wounds.

"What can I do to help?" Hawk asked.

"Keep Snake-Eyes' trach clear and release the pressure on his tourniquet every few minutes."

It was then that Preacher coughed up blood, closed his eyes and slumped against the side of the cabin. Duke continued to work frantically to close his wounds. "Damn you, Preacher! Fight!"

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

A black armored sedan pulled into the American Embassy the following morning. The car parked in the back entrance. Two Marine MPs stepped up and opened the door. Colonel Hawk exited the car and was escorted into the building. He signed in and was led to a reserved meeting hall that was under guard. Once inside, he put his briefcase on the table. He acknowledged Duke sitting in the far corner of the room. Just then a secretary entered pushing a breakfast tray carrying coffee and pastries. The two men helped themselves to coffee and sat at the table.

"How is he? Did he pull through?" Duke asked.

Hawk shook his head. "He didn't make it. The other one is still in critical condition."

"I'm sorry, Colonel, he was a good soldier." Duke saw from his expression that this was a sensitive matter for Hawk, so he quickly changed the subject. "Did you read my final report?"

"Yes I've read it. Make sure you keep a copy for yourself in case there's a formal inquiry."

Duke nodded. "I typed it in triplicate."

"Did General Flagg summon you here?"

"Yes, sir, I'll be the acting DIA liaison."

At that moment, the door opened. General Flagg, Hawk's immediate superior, entered the room. Behind him was a tall man in his late twenties dressed in a black suit. Flagg introduced him as special agent Sitwell. After introductions were finished, the men all seated themselves with Flagg at the head of the table.

Flagg started the meeting by addressing Hawk. "Abernathy, you _do_ realize that to call this a disaster is a gross understatement."

"I went into this with the full knowledge that someone would have to take the fall; that's something that I'm prepared to do."

"Dammit, Clayton, it's not that simple! If you go down, there will questions raised; questions that should not be answered."

"Why not? I have always maintained that we wouldn't need secret POW extraction units if all of our POW's were returned in the first place."

"This isn't about your mandate, Colonel," Sitwell interjected. "You screwed up plain and simple. Now the CIA has to clean up your mess."

" _My_ mess?"

" _You_ authorized a strike force led by American soldiers who are supposed to be official noncombatants. And _you_ personally instigated a high-profile firefight in the middle of the city, leaving two of your men down and dozen's of witnesses to keep quiet. All of this in direct violation of a treaty that our CiC signed in good faith."

"Don't give me that. You and I both know that the Paris Accords are a joke. In any event, this had nothing to do with the conflict with the North anyway. This was a coordinated terrorist attack on American interests. In my estimation, we were obliged to act."

The agent grinned. " _In your estimation_? I'm afraid that you presume too much for your rank, _Colonel_."

"My men were in danger. What would you have me do, Sitwell?"

"I would have you consider the big picture: if the cease-fire fails, hostilities will escalate. America will delay pulling out. If that happens, Warsaw and China won't sit on the sidelines much longer. I don't have to tell you where that could lead."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before your people sent in Panther Force to take out Tho," said Duke.

Sitwell glared in Duke's direction. "I beg your pardon?"

Duke returned his glare. "With all due respect, sir, I know that I'm just a grunt, but let give you _my_ take on the big picture. When America pulls out, I think we can all agree that Saigon will fall. Now losing Vietnam to the Commies doesn't sit well with the REMFs back home, so what do they do? They call in The Agency to enlist a bunch of knuckle-draggers to run a false-flag operation behind enemy lines."

Flagg leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "That's a serious accusation, Sergeant Hauser. To what end?"

"By masquerading as VC and killing everything in their path, they'll have created a groundswell of sentiment against Anti-North occupation from the populace. By using terror, they can proliferate a strategy of tension in order to undermine the communist regime and keep stability out of the region."

"That's very imaginative. Do you really expect that to stick?" Sitwell said.

Duke clenched his jaw in anger, but kept his countenance respectful. "That's what I'm going to put into my report. So, I guess we'll find out, sir."

"Ok, I've heard enough," said Flagg. "I'm not interested in assigning blame, I just want it fixed. I'm meeting with the CSA in nine hours. I want a plan outlined before he gets here.

Flagg adjourned the meeting and dismissed Duke and Sitwell. Hawk to stay behind. When they were alone, Flagg put his hat on the table and went over to the breakfast tray to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"What happened to the good old days when war was simple, Abernathy?"

"Are we going to let them get away with this, General?"

"Like I said, there would be too many questions raised. Unfortunately, you don't get a star on your shoulder without making some compromises." Flagg sat down next to Hawk and took a sip. "You have to learn to pick your battles carefully, Abernathy."

"It's not just about this, sir…. Six years and we have nothing to show for it: the waste of resources, manpower and lives. They brought us here, didn't let us win it, and left some of us behind."

General Flagg nodded, and took another sip of coffee. "You do realize there will be formal inquiry. I don't know how much of this I can protect you from."

"I don't care about that. What's going to happen to K Company? My men?"

"I promise there will be no blow back for your men. As for K Company, I imagine that its colors will be retired, but the resolution that established your TOE will remain in effect."

"Why? The mission's over."

"As a place-holder. That way DIA can keep the unit in-house."

Hawk smirked. "You mean, keep the _funding_ for the unit in house."

"The way I see it, your regular army G.I. Joes held their own against a rouge Dark Ops unit, an entire NVA regiment, and a terrorist insertion team. I'm sure SOCOM can find something else for them to do."

Hawk left General Flagg. In the hallway outside, he was greeted by a young marine who met him at attention. Hawk saluted back and ordered him at ease.

"Sir, your man in critical condition has gone AWOL."

Hawk eyed the young MP incredulously for several seconds before answering, "What do you mean he's gone AWOL?Do you realize the condition he was in?"

"He somehow overpowered the MP guarding his room and left the hospital before the transport arrived," the marine replied nervously.

Hawk ran his fingers through his hair and paced. "How many people know about this?"

"Just me and the guard involved, sir."

"Keep it that way."

* * *

 

(1) _Paradise Lost. Book ii. Line 105._

(2) _2_ _Samuel 22:2-3_


	7. Loyalty

 

GI Joe Headquarters – November 10, 1989

Things had finally started to settle down toward the end of the week. So much so that Jinx actually welcomed a return to the mundane. She was re-reading the latest issue of her favorite magazine. Amy sat across the office at her desk, painting her nails. She looked up from her reading when she saw Stalker come into the office pushing an empty cart.

Jinx promptly put her periodical away. _What's_ he _doing here?_

Stalker walked around the counter and parked the cart next to Amy's desk. "You left your cart in the receiving office last night, I figured I would save you a trip."

Amy smiled. "Thank you, Lonzo. That's so sweet."

He blushed as he scratched his scalp under his beret. "Are you ladies coming to the Grunt's Lounge after the shift change? There's gonna be an Iron Curtain party."

"What's an _Iron Curtain_ party?" Jinx asked.

Amy rolled her eyes, "Sheesh, Jinx, don't you know what's going on in the world?"

She pouted. "I've been too busy to keep up."

Stalker's body-language changed when he noticed that two men dressed in business suits had entered the office. They asked for Lt. Jenkins, and Amy directed them to the office across the counter. Stalker eyed them intently. The exchange was not lost on Jinx.

"Excuse me, ladies; I have to get back to my post."

"Goodbye, Lonzo." Amy gazed at Stalker as he left. The office was quiet again, and she resumed painting her nails, though she noticed that Jinx had not returned to her magazine, regarding her instead with a mischievous grin. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Jinx batted her eyelashes. _"Goodbye,_ _Lonzo..."_

Amy shrugged, "He told me to call him Lonzo."

Jinx folded her arms. "Mmhmm."

"Stop it."

She was going to continue to tease Amy when the door to Jenkin's office opened. Jenkin's looked even more dour than usual.

"Akamatsu, in my office."

She entered the office. The two suits were still there, so it was standing room only in the small space. She understood Stalker's earlier reaction as she felt her body stiffen in their presence.

Jenkins closed the door. "Akamatsu, these men are from the Army Audit Agency. Can you debrief them on your progress with General Hawk's file?"

Her eyes narrowed in his direction. "Debrief?"

Jenkins appeared crestfallen when he replied, "Yes. They're going to be taking over. It's no longer our problem."

The way the agents looked at her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Their Qi made the air reek of poison. She was careful not to look them in the eyes. Her jaw clenched when the lead agent approached; nevertheless, she shook his hand when introductions were made. His grip was strong and callused: battle hardened. _Liars!_

The lead agent towered over her with an unemotional expression. "We'll need to see _all_ of your documentation, ma'am."

"Of course," she said with a placating smile. "I have the originals in my locker. Wait here and I'll bring them."

She left the room and retreated to her desk.

Amy, who was blowing her nails dry, paused as Jinx started to rifle through her things. "You have that look again."

Jinx ignored her.

"The thousand yard stare..."

Jinx finally retrieved a large enveloped and handed it to Amy, whispering, "Can you do me a favor and mail this package in case you don't hear from me by the end of the day?"

"Sure." She took the proffered envelope and read the addressee, "Captain Vincent R. Falcone in Kuwait… friend of yours?"

"Sort of. I'm sending him some… _insurance_ documents," Jinx replied detached, and she logged out of her computer. "If anyone asks, I had to go to my locker." And she left.

Amy pursed her lips. "We have lockers?"

Jinx closed the door behind her. Two more agents were standing outside, but she did not allow that to interrupt her stride, and they let her pass. _It's all in the attitude._ However, she could hear their footfalls as they followed behind her at a discreet distance.

The agents tailed Jinx to the end of the hall, where she then turned a corner. By the time they arrived at the intersection of the connecting corridor, she was gone. They fanned out, but there was no sign of her.

Jinx stepped out of a utility closet two hallways down, adjusting her blonde wig. She took the stairs one flight up and stepped out when she saw a female Blacksuit walk by. She followed her, making it appear as if they were together. She kept a calm demeanor as a security squad sprinted past. She could hear Beach Head's voice over their receivers as there was now a heightened sense of alert.

_Everyone's looking for me._

She broke off from her unwitting escort and turned down an empty hallway – she needed to find a quiet place to hide out and think. She turned the next corner without looking, and she gasped: Stalker was standing right in front of her, escorted by a single Blacksuit.

"Jinx! Don't move." He unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt. "Beach Head, this is Stalker. I've found Jinx in section Tango on the fifth floor. I'm bringing her in."

Jinx reached behind her head and pulled a forked metal pin out of her hair. The Blacksuit raised his weapon.

"Both of you stand down." He stood between the two of them, lowering the Blacksuits rifle, then he cautiously approached Jinx. "Do you plan on poking your way out of here with that hairpin, Corporal?"

She averted her eyes. "No, sir."

She dropped her weapon on the floor. Stalker approached and turned her around. He retrieved a pair of handcuffs and grabbed her wrist. When he brought the cuffs down, she shifted her hips violently, jerking Stalker's wrist in place of hers as the cuff latched. She then dropped to the floor, grabbed the chain and latched the other cuff to his ankle.

Cursing, Stalker hopped on one leg as he reached to grab her. She rolled under him and swept his leg causing him to fall hard on his side.

Jinx rolled to her feet and kicked the rifle out of the hand of the Blacksuit. He reached for his backup, but Jinx was ready to grab his wrist as he brought it bear. She spun him off his feet, pressed the magazine release on his pistol and kicked the clip safely out of reach. The Blacksuit promptly reloaded, but Jinx had already run off.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Stalker shouted. He pushed the button on his walkie-talkie.

"Beach Head, I lost her. She's heading for section Sierra. Be advised that she is wearing a blonde wig." Before Beach Head could acknowledge, he signed off and cursed again. "Get me the damn keys to these cuffs… NOW!"

Jinx removed her blonde wig and turned it inside-out – changing her hair color to red. Much of her black hair stuck out from under the wig, but she didn't have time to fix it properly; it would have to do. She peeked around the corner of an adjoining hall. There was a security squad of Blacksuits going room to room.

She circled back, taking the scenic route to the south corner elevator. If she could make it to the common area, she could disappear among the rest of the personnel.

Jinx made it as far as the hall leading to the south lobby. Behind her, on the far end, she saw the agents that she lost from Finance on the floor below. They were running. She cursed and sprinted for the elevator. She was relieved when she saw the elevator doors start to open. Her streak of luck was short-lived, however, when she saw General Hawk in the car. She gasped and stopped in her tracks, conflicted as to whether she should run or fight.

Hawk looked past Jinx to the agents heading toward them. "Get in…. Hurry!"

Jinx regarded Hawk warily. Something about the Qi in the urgency in his voice made her trust him. She entered the car as the doors drew to a close.

Hawk reached into his pocket and took out an executive key. He inserted the key into the control panel. The elevator controls immediately locked and the car started to lower. He then took out his walkie-talkie.

"Beach Head, this is Hawk. Jinx is with me."

"Roger that. I'll order all units to stand down."

"Negative. Your new orders are to escort those knuckle-draggers off my base… and you don't have to be polite."

"Understood."

"I'm taking Jinx to _The Dungeon_ until this all blows over."

"Is that wise, sir?"

"No. But, I've had enough of this cloak-and-dagger nonsense."

"Roger that. Beach Head out."

Jinx waited until Hawk put his radio away before asking, "Permission to speak, sir—"

"Permission denied."

They stood in silence as the elevator continued under the electric hum of the motor. Suddenly the elevator came to an abrupt halt. A voice cut in over the intercom:

"Sorry, General. The system detected an unauthorized presence with you in the car and implemented the counter-measures—"

"It's alright, Sparks. I'm giving Corporal Akamatsu an impromptu tour of our lower facility. Pass code: YO JOE CHARLIE OSCAR 282 KILO… enable."

The elevator started again with a jolt. Jinx watched the floor indicator reach the basement. The elevator kept going down, even though there were no more floors listed on the panel.

"The CIA has gotten more brazen," Hawk mused. "Those agents were sent here to kidnap you right under my nose. I don't know where they would've taken you, but it would not doubt have been some place where I couldn't protect you."

"Why would they do this?" she asked.

"Fear. The _fear_ of certain questions… _questions_ that should never be answered."

"Does this have something to do with the cover-up in old Saigon?"

He chuckled under his breath. "You think this is about Cold War politics?"

The elevator came to a halt. The doors opened to a catwalk leading to a long narrow hallway. As she walked behind him, she could see the walls lined with heavy machine guns. At the end of the hall was a thick steel door controlled by an electronic terminal. The electronic eyepeice scanned Hawk's retina, and giant gears behind the super structure engaged to open the entrance to a huge multi-tiered chamber. Titanium pylons lined the superstructure for as far as she could see. She looked upwards: the pylons continued up for a half-mile in support of the bedrock ceiling overhead.

They passed by a series of cages. She paused to peer into one of the larger ones. There was something stirring inside; a pair of glowing green eyes stared back at her. Suddenly, the behemoth charged. She gasped and instinctively latched onto Hawk's arm. When the creature bounced off of the electrified bars, it retreated to the back of its cage. Jinx blushed and released Hawk's arm. He looked down at her and gave her a reassuring smile as they continued on.

The noise served to awaken the denizens occupying the other cages. The hall was filled with the screams of strange flying creatures, giant monsters, and creepy crawling things. She wondered if she stumbled upon some kind of genetic-engineered bio-warfare program. In the next section, was a set of smaller cages. The sounds from the cages sounded eerily human-like. She dared to look as she walked by and gasped. The beings inside were definitely humanoid, but they had blue skin and were dressed in insectoid armor: very much like the garb worn by Golobulus' elite guards.

"Cobrala!" she exclaimed.

Hawk nodded. "A sanitization team came in after the battle in the Himalayas and found these survivors. The President and Joint-Chiefs decided to ship everything here. It was decided to keep the circle of knowledge as small as possible regarding Cobrala's existence. GI Joe headquarters was the logical choice because we had first contact. An emergency meeting was held with the Secretary of the Army. From there it was determined that select members of congress would be informed on a need to know basis only. We were allowed a degree of _creative financing_ in order to hide the purpose of any and all monies coming in to keep this facility operational: classic Black Project scenario."

"I'm confused. If secrecy was so important, why on earth did they allow the Senate Oversight Committee to deploy the Finance Brigade? Why allow any oversight at all?"

"Hiding millions dollars from congress is, and should be, a difficult thing to do. There's this little piece of paper called The Constitution and along with it comes the commensurate checks and balances that are pain to work around." He smiled inwardly with pride. "I love this country."

"So, what does this have to do with Kilo Company?"

"This has nothing to do with Kilo Company directly. Your poking around made the wrong kind of people nervous; that's why they came after you... I guess it's just your bad luck, _Jinx._ "

She detected the sarcasm in his voice and averted her eyes. "How much trouble am I in?"

"A lot, corporal," he said with a stern tone. "I considered busting you down to private, but I have a more fitting punishment in mind: In addition to your duties in finance, you are to oversee all transactions and operational costs involved with The Dungeon."

Jinx straightened and looked up at Hawk with quizzical eyes.

Hawk stopped suppressing his grin. "As you have demonstrated, true intelligence work is about following the money. Your job is to make sure that our money trail remains invisible _._ Do you think that you can handle a little financial ninjutsu, _Sargeant_ Akamatusu?"

She blinked in response to her promotion. "Yes, General."

Hawk led her to a lift that took them to the uppermost tier. Once there, they passed through more security measures before being led to the command center. The command deck was lined with electronic equipment monitored by _Green Shirts_.

Cover Girl was standing at the main display terminal next to Sparks. When she saw Jinx she greeted her with a grin. Jinx blushed in return, feeling guilty for thinking so ill of her before. Sparks called all to attention when Hawk entered the room.

Hawk returned their salutes. "Sparks, set Jinx up with temporary quarters and give her the nickel tour. I'm going back top-side and will send for her later." He dismissed them and retreated to his auxillary office. At the entrance, an agent dressed in a black business suit waited for him. He was in his mid forties and had salt-and-pepper colored hair.

Hawk brushed past him, but addressed him with, "The next time your goons come into my house without knocking, I'll have them shot on site, Sitwell."

"Sorry, General, they get overzealous sometimes. But, like me, they take national security matters very seriously."

"I don't appreciate the insinuation. This is _my_ base and I am still the GI Joe commander."

"Up there you're the boss. Down here, however, the lines are little fuzzy."

"That's something I hope to rectify. To tell you the truth, Sitwell, I don't know how a rear-echelon desk-jockey like you managed to slime his way in here in the first place. You're still the same weasel I met all those years ago in Saigon."

"I suspect I'm here to make sure you don't screw up again, just like you did all those years ago in Saigon. Or, would you prefer to have the President explain to six billion people that everything we know about history, archaeology, and maybe even God is wrong."

"Hey! Watch your mouth, boy."

Sitwell made no to effort to hide the arrogance behind his grin. "I'll defer to your judgment in regards to the finance clerk... this time." And he left.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Somewhere, over an uncharted island in the South Pacific, an unmarked amphibious aircraft approached for a landing. It skimmed the waves to come to a rest at a pier. An aged General Tho step off the craft and walked the pier to shore. He was met by a team of paramilitary bodyguards who escorted him to an armored RV.

The engine roared, and the vehicle sped off down the path. The guard at post one opened the steel reinforced gate to allow them to pass. They plowed through the dense bush, a trooper manned the turret atop the RV, armed to repel any of a dozen man-eating predators that Tho had imported as a first line of defense.

The guard at post two was already prepared for their arrival. He started the engine of the ferry and, once the RV boarded, transported them across a large moat. The piranha swimming in the murky water occasionally broke the surface, hoping to be fed by scraps of meat that are usually thrown overboard at feeding time.

The ferry docked, and the RV disembarked, making its way to the final guard post: a giant wall fifty feet high that surrounded most of the complex. Its smooth surface of unscalable marble and whitestone reflected the late-afternoon sunlight. Guards, spaced out meters apart, perpetually scanned the grounds below. The draw bridge on the East wall was the sole point of entry into the impregnable fortress.

The door lowered. Tho walked the rest of the way on foot. He worked hard and killed many to secure his private empire. He is the master of all that he surveys. All of his enemies are slain; all of his allies are held in check with bribes; everyone else runs from him in fear.

He is untouchable.

Tho arrived at his private suite and turned on his security monitors, ready to record any movement across every square foot of the island. If anyone were to approach, he would see them coming. Satisfied, he turned on his projection TV with its satellite uplink that gave him access to every television broadcast on earth. He warmed himself by the fire, as watched the news so as to catch up on his holdings in Eastern Europe.

He turned down the volume on the television with a sudden urge to regard the dimly lit room. All seemed quiet. He went over to the liquor cabinet and poured _two_ glasses of scotch. He then returned to his desk by the fireplace and placed one of the glasses on the desktop.

"Come out and drink with me," he said.

Snake-Eyes stepped out of the shadows. The katana in his hand, its blade stained red, was returned to its sheath.

"I congratulate your skill. You have no doubt bypassed my surveillance systems, side-stepped my traps, and slayed my personal guards."

Snake-Eyes walked over to the desk. He picked up the drink that Tho had poured for him, and he threw it into the fire. The air stank when the poison therein ignited.

Tho smiled, crestfallen. "And you have evaded my final trap."

Snake-Eyes grabbed Tho and threw him into a wall. He rushed him, backhanding him across the face, cranking his arm and flipping him over the desk.

Tho spat blood onto the floor. "May I at least see the face of my executioner?"

Without hesitation, Snake-Eyes snapped off his visor and took off his mask.

Tho's eyes widened. "Yes! I remember you from Saigon." He stood up, brushed himself off and straightened his robe to maintain his dignity. "It was a glorious battle was it not? It is ironic that my assassin would be the one to help cement my name in history. However, I'm afraid that you have come too late to claim your vengeance. The man that you are after no longer exists."

Tho gestured in the direction of the fireplace, and Snake-Eyes looked to see Tho's sword displayed prominently above the mantle.

That night, all those years ago, changed me. I retired my sword, never to use it again. The war has taken so much from me: my son; my humanity. I imagine the same could be said for you, great warrior.

Tho leaned against the edge of his desk. Snake-Eyes continued to stare at the katana, mesmerized.

" _Vengeance_ … she is very seductive, isn't she? She injects you with a thirst for revenge, and then bathes in ecstasy under the radiance of your hate. It is nigh impossible for a man to divorce himself once he has fallen prey to her wiles. I leave you with a warning: when she has had her fill, you will become like me: a broken old man trying to repay his spirit debt."

Snake-Eyes mused, for there was truth in Tho's words. He continued to regard the sword mounted above the mantle; long repressed memories started to flood back from that fateful day.

The warrior turned his back, and Tho casually reached under the rim of his desk and curled his fingers around the handle of his ninjato. From a standing leap he covered the length of the desk with the grace of a swan and the silence of the butterfly – his sword poised to sever Snake-Eyes' spinal cord.

At the last possible moment, Tho detected movement, followed by a gleam of light reflected off polished metal. Instinctively, he jerked his head back just in time to dodge Snake-Eyes' katana – the blade planed upwards in front of his face, missing the tip of his nose by less than an inch.

Tho alit on the ground in a prime position: Snake-Eyes was left over extended from his attack. With murder in his heart he yelled excitedly as he brought his sword arm down to splay his silent enemy. He almost stumbled when the usual impedance of flesh and bone did not slow his blade. He swung again – this time to decapitate – to no avail. He looked to his sword and gasped. Where his weapon should be was instead a bloody stump of a forearm spurting blood. He looked to find his ninjato on the floor with his severed hand still white-knuckled around the hilt: Snake-Eyes did not miss after all.

Tho slumped to his knees and grabbed his wrist to stop the bleeding. "Most Impressive, but I deny you your vengeance. Slit my throat and watch me laugh as I spit upon thee with my final breath. My legacy will remain long after you have turned to dust!"

Snake-Eyes picked him up and slammed his face on the desktop. He then forced his head to face the TV screen. Tho watched the newscast from Germany. There was a crowd gathered around a huge stone wall. The atmosphere was festive as pieces of the wall were brought down to the cheers of the spectators. He looked on to see people on both sides come together with tears of joy in the spirit of brotherhood.

However, he laughed when he finally comprehended the point Snake-Eye's was trying to make. "If you think that this wall coming down will make _any_ difference, then you are a fool!"

Snake-Eyes grabbed him by the hair and led him to the fireplace. He then took his stump and put it into the fire. Tho winced as the heat seared his flesh, cauterizing the wound. Snake-Eyes stood him up, pinned tho's arms behind his back and handcuffed him.

"What are you doing?"

Snake-Eyes presented him with a piece of paper. Tho focused his eyes to read the paper in the dim light:

UNITED NATIONS WAR CRIMES TRIBUNAL

OFFICIAL SUMMONS

CASE NO: WCTR-1975-67-I

ACCUSED: GENERAL THO

He laughed. "I was wrong. You are not a fool. You are a waste!"

Tho's fortress was bordered to the north by an impassable precipice buffered by a dense jungle. It was a superior obstacle than any man made wall. He left the suite unseen, with Tho in tow, and entered the thick bush.

"How do you plan on spiriting me away from here, great warrior? There is an army to your back and a perilous cliff to your front."

Snake-Eyes ignored him. He retrieved transponder from his pocket and flipped it on. Halfway through the jungle, they came to a clearing on top of a big rock. He sat Tho down and scanned the area using the infrared attachment built into his visor.

He heard leaves rustling in the distance. _Is it the wind? No… someone else is here._ He drew his sword and peered in the shadows.

Tho impatiently rolled his eyes, and he shouted into the darkness, "You might as well come out. He knows your there."

A masked figure stepped out from hiding. When he came closer into view, Snake-Eyes tensed and gripped his katana tighter. It was Firefly.

"It's been a long time, Snakes. I want to thank you for gift-wrapping Tho for me; you made my job a whole lot easier. All I had to do was follow the trail you left to get in here."

Tho laughed, and he joined Firefly. Snake-Eyes did not try to stop him.

"It's about time you got here, Firefly. Whatever Destro paid you, it was too much! If this fool had taken me before the international courts, rest assured I would have taken you all down with me!" Having made his point, he presented the rope binding his arms, "Now, release me, dog!"

Firefly drew the sword sheathed on his back. "As you wish, General." And he unceremoniously plunged the sword into Tho's belly, running it through to the hilt.

Tho's eyes widened in surprise. He whimpered in shock as he grabbed onto Firefly's shoulder eventually falling to his knees.

Firefly looked him in the eyes as he turned the sword. "Here's the thing, General, although Cobra did approach me to rescue you, the CIA's bid to eliminate you was much higher."

He pulled the sword out, spun around, and chopped Tho's head off on the return. His cut was so perfect, the body remained kneeling.

Firefly regarded Snake-Eyes. "I had hoped they would send you. We have some unfinished business."

They circled each other in the open clearing: the sword fight had begun. Firefly noticed that Snake-Eyes was eyeing the exotic weapon he held in his hand.

"Do you like it? I had it custom made just for you. It's harder than steel and has a micro-fine edge." Firefly twirled the sword with uncommon dexterity. The blade seemed to sing as it cut the air in his expert hands. "You see, I've been waiting fifteen years for payback. Ever since your unit took out my men, I've been on the run from the agency, afraid to show my face. Yet, as you have just seen, I still do odd jobs for them from time-to-time, under an assumed name of course. In a way I owe you thanks; working freelance has been very lucrative. Observe!"

Firefly rushed him, swinging wide with his sword. Snake-Eyes easily side-stepped the phony attack designed to bait him. Firefly laughed mockingly as he pointed the tip of his blade.

"I've been watching you, studying all your moves and preparing for the day when we would finally meet. I examined every bit of video footage made of you. I've analyzed your methods so as to beat you at your own game. I must say there certainly wasn't a lack of material. The only problem with you is I knew it would come down to a sword fight. Fortunately, with you being such a busy boy, it wasn't hard to motivate certain interested parties with pockets deep enough to hook me up with the best sword masters that money can buy. So, rest assured that after I take you out, I'm going to go after the rest of your men down the line. My only regret is I wasn't able to gut your man in Cholon myself."

Snake-Eyes' tensed noticeably. An audible hiss escaped his lips.

Firefly, sneered under his mask. "Oh, come now, don't act so surprised. How do you think Tho was able to mount such a thorough counter-attack so soon after our raid on his compound? The CIA was well aware of your mission. We were supposed to have pulled out before you arrived. After we fought at their base camp, his men intercepted me less than five clicks from my LZ. I needed to buy time to plan my escape. So, in exchange for my life, I fed them information about Kilo Company. I told them where you where based and about the men in your unit."

Snake-Eyes had heard enough, and he exploded into action. Taking the high-guard, he powered his sword downward as hard as he could. Firefly swung back to block. Swords clashed, and the shock waves reverberated all the way down their arms. Firefly parried a lunge made for his abdomen. Snake-Eyes spun around for another lunge, and Firefly twisted in the opposite direction to slap the blade aside.

"Not the opening I expected from you, but I like your attitude!"

Firefly's balaclava hid his arrogant smile. He knew he had the advantage for Snake-Eyes had made three critical errors. First, the fury of his attacks would quickly start to whittle away at his energy reserves. Secondly, setting the pace of the fight in such a manner allowed Firefly to lure him to exactly where he wanted him to be. Last, and most critical, he allowed himself to become angry. Anger compromises control.

Firefly did not know what he said to incur such ire, but he had every intention of capitalizing on it. He gave ground, leading them to the side of a muddy embankment. Snake-Eyes' attacks were starting to lose some of their sting. That last chop hung in the air for a quarter of second too long: plenty of time for Firefly to duck it and land a kick to his midsection.

Snake-Eyes stumbled. He caught his breath while he reached under his sleeve and pulled out a trio of throwing stars.

Firefly deflected the projectiles expertly and leveraged the momentum gained to charge, raking his sword along the side of the muddy embankment.

Snake-Eyes had his katana at the ready. In his mind, he had mapped the spot on Firefly's throat where he would plant his sword as soon as he came within range.

However, at the last second, Firefly twisted his wrist, causing the width of his sword to scrape against the earthen wall taking with it a glob of mud that he threw in Snake-Eyes' face.

Snake-Eyes gasped when the world suddenly became dark. He instinctively wiped his visor against his sleeve. Now, instead of darkness, everything was a blurry smear. Blinded, he raised his sword to defend the most likely area of attack using Firefly's last known position as a point of reference.

He was relieved when metal clashed against metal, _Lucky fool!_ And he cartwheeled aside, snapping off his visor as he alighted just in time to see Firefly reach for a device on his wrist.

Firefly pushed a button.

Every fiber of the ninja's being told him to move. He leapt with all of his strength just in time to avoid it:

KA-BOOM!

Snake-Eyes staggered to his feet after landing in a soft patch of shrubs. He struggled to bring his eyes into focus. He could barely make out the sounds of Firefly's taunting laughter.

"Now you know what I was doing out here all this time... concussion blast: not lethal from medium range, but still a hell of a kicker."

With Snake-Eyes dazed and half-deaf, Firefly saw this is as his opportunity to strike. An alarm sounded in the distance as the noise from the explosion had already alerted the guards. It was time to take out Snake-Eyes with everything he had.

Snake-Eyes shook his head to abate the ringing in his ears. He smelled the air and whipped his head around. The stench of Firefly's _Qi_ brought him out of his stupor like smelling-salts. However, it was too late; all he could do as Firefly vaulted into the air was raise his sword and pray. Firefly brought his sword down, putting behind it all of his rage and all of his hate. In that split second before their swords kissed, Snake-Eyes knew that his katana would not hold. He turned his wrist so that the flat of his sword would meet the edge of Firefly's blade in hopes of distributing the force along a wider area. Firefly split the katana in two and sunk his sword into Snake-Eyes' shoulder. Fortunately, the power dissipated by the sword-break, coupled with body armor, was enough to keep the sword from penetrating into flesh.

Snake-Eyes grabbed Firefly's sword-arm, and he pulled his sleeve back to reveal the remote detonator strapped to his wrist. He pushed the red button.

Firefly looked at him in horror. "You fool! That's the fail safe!"

All of Firefly's hidden explosives blasted around them. Snake-Eyes pulled Firefly on top of him as the ground shook. Snake-Eyes covered his ears from the sounds of all hell breaking loose.

When the Earth was still again, they dug their way out from under their shallow graves of loose dirt and foliage. They coughed to clear the smoke out of their lungs. The footsteps from the guards could be heard converging on their position. They stared at each other as the guards came in to surround. Firefly sheathed his sword, both men in understanding that their personal reckoning would have to wait for another day.

The time for stealth was over. The soldier and the assassin split up and drew their firearms, Snake-Eyes with his twin UZIs and Firefly dual-wielding his MAC-11s. Bullets flew everywhere. Snake-Eyes lost sight of Firefly as he disappeared into the bush, along with half of the enemy contingent. The other half bore down on him, and he reloaded while he took cover behind a marble statue.

Snake-Eyes exhaled, waited for a break in the gunfire and came from behind cover to spray bullets indiscriminately into the guards. The survivors took cover and blind-fired back. He slipped past the first volley, handspringing and flipping about to avoid the ordnance with ridiculous agility.

He pushed past their lines to take them out at close range. Three guards drew their swords and rushed him, and Snake-Eyes emptied his left UZI into them. A fourth guard charged with his katana, forcing Snake-Eyes to block with the right UZI. The sword embedded itself into the barrel and held fast, trapping it. Snake-Eyes ejected the clip, caught the magazine with is foot and kicked it back into the waiting shaft of his left gun. He brought the reloaded UZI under his arm and dispatched the last guard.

His transponder beeped.

Another troop of guards came over the ridge. Snake-Eyes sprinted from the embankment and headed for the ledge. Bullets shot around him as he jumped over the side of the cliff.

The guards ran to the ledge and looked into waters far below. There was no sign of him. They all cheered for if the dive didn't finish him, then the undertow of the waves crashing against the rocks would certainly seal his fate.

A few miles out to open sea, a SHARC broke the surface of the waters. It flew into the sky at subsonic speed and sped off into the Pacific sunset.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

_tick…tick…tick…tick…_

Jinx couldn't believe how quickly the day passed by. Today was the deadline to turn in her pre-audit sheet. She dreaded the final meeting with Jenkins and put it off for the end of her shift.

"Akamatsu, in my office."

A chill went down her spine when Jenkins called her. She gathered her papers and decided to knuckle down and get this over with.

_tick…tick…_ SPROING!

A smile of satisfaction came across her face as she left her desk, her letter opener embedded deep into the wall clock's face.

Jinx stood at attention in front of the lieutenant's desk. "Reporting as order, sir." And she handed over the report.

He took his time reading each page. Finally he removed his glasses and regarded her. "So, according to this, the ten million dollars has disappeared?"

She kept her eyes forward. "Not disappeared, rather, there was no discrepancy to begin with."

"What about your leads?"

"I was mistaken; there was nothing behind them. I now believe that a glitch in the system caused the invoices to be double-posted."

Jenkins shook his head. "Hawk got to you didn't he? Can't you see that he's using you?"

She clenched her fist behind her back. "Like you used me? You knew that you would never be able to get the information on your own. You needed someone who was already on the inside, with the tools to gather the information by unconventional means, who probably had an ax to grind with Hawk."

"I said from the beginning that you were an asset."

"You also said that my first priority should be to the United States. Do you hold yourself to the same ideal, or is this about mounting another general in your trophy case?"

Her lip started to tremble. She had been preparing that speech in her head all day. She was afraid of how it would finally come across. The last thing she needed was to be brought up on charges of insubordination.

For the first time, Jenkins scaled back from his usual gruff demeanor, " _I_ never _lied_ to you."

She sighed. "Look…you're right, I found the money. But I went to General Hawk first. He explained himself, and I believe him. He didn't order me to keep quiet; I'm _choosing_ to because if the secret got out it would hurt the country."

He shrugged. "Fine."

"Sir?" she said, nonplussed.

"You're the one running this audit. If you feel that there's no basis to continue with it, then I must accept that."

She blinked. "Thank you, sir."

Before he dismissed her he added, "Oh, by the way, next time tell Hawk to clean up after himself. And if any more of these _phantom invoices_ comes across my department, I trust that _you_ will keep them _off_ my desk."

She left the office, relieved but also guilty for underestimating him. She made it a point not to be so quick to judge others in the future. All in all, she was pleased with the way things turned out. She walked over to the elevator. While she waited, she eyed a grasshopper crawling on the windowsill.

"Sorry about the _rubber-band_ thing," she said with a smirk.

She sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Things were finally starting to look up. With a new set of responsibilities under her belt, she no longer felt like such an outcast. As such, she never understood why everyone took her operative name so literally; she always knew that she wasn't unlucky. Maybe at her next review, she'll put in a request for a new code name.

When the elevator doors opened, she gasped. Stalker was standing in the car. The expression on his face was more dour than any Jenkins ever gave her. She stood there frozen, holding her breath. Several seconds passed, neither person moved or spoke.

The doors started to close, but Stalker stopped them. "Are you getting in, or not?"

"I'll take the next car sir—"

The impatience became increasingly apparent in his voice. "Nonsense. There's plenty of room in here."

She walked in sheepishly. She knew there would be a reckoning with Stalker after their last encounter. However, she didn't expect it to be so soon. She kept her eyes facing forward as the doors came to a close. Maybe he won't bother to mention the incident.

"I just got one thing to say to you, _Ms. cheap shot_ …"

She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, not knowing what to expect.

"…is Amy seeing anyone?" he asked.

Her eyes opened. Confusion washed over her face. "Amy?"

"She's the contractor that works with you in finance, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is she involved with anyone?"

"Uhm, I don't think so."

"I see…. Do you think you could put a good word for me?"

She blushed. "I don't think that would be appropriate."

"You're right of course… I just thought that you would want to return the favor that you owe me—"

"Favor?"

He shrugged. "Yea, for allowing you to pull off that hand-cuff trick."

Exasperated, she turned to face him, mouth agape, ready to chew him out. However, when she saw the grin on his face and the twinkle in his eye, she bit her lip and looked away, trying desperately not to laugh. The only other person who could make her lose her cool like this was Falcon, _What is it with Green Berets?_

"Oh, is that how you remember it?" She said with a wry smile. "Then I guess I am in your debt."

"Just make sure that when you talk me up that you mention that I'm not only humble, but also a great dancer – especially when _hopping_ on one foot."

She put her hands on her hips. "Well, I haven't exactly _agreed_ to do it yet sir."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because I like Amy."

He snorted. "Ouch."

She folded her arms. "I'll do it on one condition: teach me how to sign."

Stalker regarded her, nonplussed. His brow furrowed at first, but then his eyes softened as the reason for her request dawned on him. "You drive a hard bargain."

The smile on her lips sealed the deal. The elevator came to a stop on his floor, and he left.

The doors came to a close, and she laughed.

—oOo—

Snake-Eyes wiped the sweat from his brow. He was still weary from the mission, but he had no time to rest. He turned his broken sword over on the examination table under the hot lights for one final sweep. He adjusted the magnifier of the microscope and the computer display zoomed in on the jagged end. Using the micro-tweezers, he pulled out the last fleck of metal embedded into the serrated edge and dropped it into a Petri dish. In all, he found twenty such flecks. He divided them into two piles. The first pile was sealed inside of a ceramic container which he then placed inside of an inter-office envelope addressed to 'metallurgy'. The second pile was placed inside of magnetic lock-box. He then flipped the switch on the spectrometer and waited for it to warm up. As the equipment hummed in operation, he finally rested.

Having his mind off of his work allowed him to reach down and find his center. When he did so, he became aware that he was not alone. He bolted from his chair ready for battle as he scanned the ceiling where he saw Jinx in the rafters.

She slid down a nearby column and faced him. "Er, sorry. I... didn't know how else to approach you."

Snake-Eyes approached, standing next to the column and rapped it with his knuckles.

She blushed. "You're right. I should have knocked." She bowed. " _Moushiwake-arimasen._ "

Snake-Eyes tensed, his hand instinctively clenched over the throwing stars at his sleeve. Jinx adapted her mannerisms accordingly. She removed her jacket and threw it on a chair. She then removed the pin that cropped her hair and dropped it on the ground. Her hair fell around her shoulders and over her chest. Using her fingers, she brushed her bangs away from her eyes and smoothed her hair down her back. She presented herself to him submissively to show that she was unarmed. Snake-Eyes relaxed.

"I mean you no harm… _Preacher_."

She held her breathe. She wasn't sure if her guess was right, but his double-take was all the confirmation that she needed.

"So, it's true. The real Snake-Eyes died back in Saigon. Hawk must have forged the paperwork in order to protect you."

He tilted his head at her quizzically. In response, she placed a piece of paper on the table next to him. He picked it up and unfolded it. He recognized the _Kanji_ in his handwriting that translated to English as:

YOU ARE NOT NINJA

"It was this note you passed to me in the elevator: the manner and eloquence with which it was written are details that either an adept native speaker, _or a_ _linguist_ , would pay attention to. It didn't dawn on me until after I read your service record with Kilo Company."

A quiet snort escaped his nostrils as he regarded the note. In retrospect, he was sloppy.

"When I was growing up, there was a story going around: a tale about a warrior slain by a Ninja master atop a great Pagoda. After the battle, the warrior was resurrected by a Chinese wizard using black magic. The warrior was doomed to walk the earth as a shadow, a destroyer of ninjas." She snorted. "I always thought it was a story that my grandmother made up in order to scare us into doing our chores and to keep us from staying out too late… but there is some truth behind it isn't there?"

He nodded.

"I now understand why you wrote this: you know that I am _not_ your enemy because you have seen into my soul. My blind ninja master says, _The keenest eye is the eye that looks inward_."

He nodded again.

She approached closer, tentatively placing her palm over his heart meridian, close enough to feel his energy without actually touching him.

"So much pain."

He clasped his hands over hers and gently pulled away. He took out his notebook and pen and wrote her another note, this time in English:

_You don't know me._

Undeterred, she backed him up against the column and removed the visor from his mask so as to look into his eyes. "Not true: as you have seen _me_ , likewise I have seen _you_ …"

She gently bit her bottom lip as she unclasped the mask at the base of his neck. He didn't resist as she peeled it up around his chin and over his nose. She paused to caress his lips with her thumb.

"Your aura is scarred. _Yin and Yang_ are out of balance.…"

He closed his eyes as she removed his mask. She ran her fingers across his shaven head. She continued to feel the contours around his eyes and cheeks. He looked much younger that his age. His face was flawless, forever banished from exposure to the harsh sun by a protective mask. It was like touching newborn skin.

"Beautiful."

Her fingertips felt so soft when they brushed against his face. Her Asian eyes looked upon him with a countenance that was so angelic that he was compelled to reach out and touch her. She closed her eyes as his fingers graced her cheek and stroked her silky raven hair. She shuddered from the sensation of pins-and-needles as he ran his hand down over her spine and to the small of her back – feeling without touching. Hot breath, pink lips, sensual Qi.

Their bodies spasmed when she pressed against him. She was so warm. He had forgotten what it felt like. The way she tilted her head, it would have been so easy for him to lean in and touch his lips against hers. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

_She smells so good._

Suddenly there was a rush of air and the heat dissipated. He opened his eyes; she was gone. He looked around to find that he was the only one in the room now. He might have dismissed the entire encounter as a dream were it not for the piece of paper that she left in his hand. The corners of his mouth turned up as he read it:

I AM NINJA

He put the note in his pocket and replaced his mask, covering up any evidence of the grin on his face, once again donning his invincible shield.


	8. Qi

 

Ho Chi Minh City - May 1,1975

A transient, dressed in rags, ducked into an alleyway as NVA soldiers walked the streets. He kept his back bent in order to hide his stature. His face remained hidden under a wide-brimmed straw hat as he stayed in the shadows. Although the transfer of power was peaceful, there was still an air of tension among the people of the reborn city.

The transient walked into the graveyard. He maneuvered the maze of headstones until he reached two makers placed side-by-side, one of which was freshly dug.

_My beloved wife and daughter._

He took two flowers from under his poncho and placed one on each headstone. He took out a bible from his pocket and turned to a bookmarked passage. After straining to read it aloud in vain, he threw the book on the ground in frustration – unable to say his goodbyes properly.

_I'm so sorry, baby._

"You will find it quite impossible to speak."

Preacher snapped his head in the direction of the familiar voice. From behind one of the larger tombstones, _Old-Man_ came into view and approached him.

"I saw it when I looked into your eyes on that rooftop. You hover between existence and non-existence, a spirit rooted to this earth by his grief forever unable to commune with the living or the dead until that grief is resolved." Old-Man stopped at the foot of the grave marker "I knew that you would have no choice coming here… DEFEND YOURSELF, DEMON!"

Preacher looked up too late to dodge a flying fist that Old-Man planted across his jaw. Preacher fell to the ground, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip.

"When I was younger I was an officer of the Manchu Imperial Guard chosen to protect the last emperor of China. We were of course trained to be the perfect warriors. In order to make us better protectors, we were taught the art of assassination, because it takes an assassin to defeat an assassin."

Preacher leapt to his feet and charged. Old-Man parried a punch, lifted his leg to shin-block a kick, and caught a haymaker aimed for his head. Both men locked eyes, fist and palm struggling in a tug-of-war.

"Shortly before the emperor's capture, I forsook my mandate for the love of a woman. We ran far away and made a life for ourselves. But, since I have betrayed my master, Karma has caught up to me with my wife, daughter and granddaughter have paid the price for my sins. As a result, I have abandoned my eldest daughter, lest she be met with the same fate. The only thing I have left to live for is revenge. And I have chosen _you_ as my instrument of vengeance!"

Preacher pushed off and broke free from Old-Man's grasp. Old-Man threw a punch, which Preacher deftly parried, then followed it up with a kick to the head. However, Preacher brought his elbow down against the knee to jam the kick, and then connected with an uppercut that sent Old-Man flying backwards.

Old-Man rolled with the punch and recovered in a kneeling position. He grinned with approval and spat a tooth out onto the ground. "Out of all the disciplines that I have mastered, _Ninjutsu_ was the least tolerable. There is nothing lower than a Ninja. They have no _honor_. They have no _country_. _Greed_ is their master. Their _Qi_ is poisoned. If you ever face a Ninja, _know_ that he is your enemy!"

Both men charged. Old-Man entered low with a spinning leg sweep. Preacher leapt into the air to avoid the sweep, his foot raised high for an ax-kick. Old-Man launched himself, spinning as he flailed his arms with his hands clawed. The first _claw_ swatted Preacher's kick aside; the follow-up came about and raked against his face, sending the soldier spiraling to the ground.

"That technique is called _The Windmill Tiger._ When performed correctly, there is no defense." He allowed Preacher to rise. "I lost against that Ninja because I am old and have allowed my skills to deteriorate. The Ninja defeated _you_ , however, because you have honor; you fight for love. A ninja uses his enemies love in such a way that you cannot destroy him without destroying yourself. The only defense against this _Invincible Shield_ technique is to _love_ nothing; to _feel_ nothing."

Enraged, Preacher rushed him. Old-Man kicked him in the chest as he charged, but Preacher muscled through it and tackled him to the ground. They rolled to their feet, where Preacher managed to get a hold of Old-Man's wrist. He cranked the wrist hard. Old-Man crouched into the _stalking crane_ stance to relieve the pressure on his shoulder. As Preacher supinated the arm to it limit, Old-Man rolled with the crank and ended up on his feet. Before Preacher could react, he sunk two fingers into the nerve cluster between the trapezius and collarbone.

Preacher winced as that side of his body became numb. It felt like fire shooting down to his toes. He slumped to the ground, his body bucked involuntarily, struggling to breathe, as his nervous system was short-circuited.

" _The Crane Hides the Cobra_ : if I had struck with full Qi, you would be truly dead now."

He left the prostrated youth, content to allow him to writhe on the floor, and returned to the headstones. He knelt over the markers, regarding them for the first time, and allowed a single tear to express his grief. He spoke softly, lest his voice crack when he spake:

"For the part that you played in the deaths of my daughter and granddaughter, I _curse_ you. You will walk the Earth as a shadow – a wraith. And you will kill every single ninja that crosses your path until there are no more ninja left to kill."

He turned Preacher over on his side and massaged two pressure points along the spine. Preacher stopped convulsing and his breathing returned to normal. Old-Man helped Preacher to his feet.

"Your training begins in three weeks when you are fully healed. You will meet me here at the next full moon."

Preacher bowed.

"Do not bow to me like some Japanese dog. I am not your _Sensei_."


	9. The Past is Prologue

****

Haghartsin Monastery – February 13, 1981

Hawk shivered and drew his jacket in tighter as he tread the edge of a rocky slope. He had just got off a three-hour bus ride after a ten-hour layover at the Vienna airport. The sun was just coming over the mountains as rays of light started to dart into the canyon below. It was a beautiful view, though he might have enjoyed it more if it was thirty degrees warmer. As he walked down the dusty trail, he started to see a tall domed structure peek out from behind the trees. It was decorated by arches and supported by columns that lined each face at its base. The path led him into the entrance of the ancient monastery. Its grey and white colored stones were offset by the plush green vines that scaled the walls of the many buildings. The grounds were neatly manicured, suggesting that there is a community here responsible for the upkeep of the complex.

He knocked on the door. After a few minutes, an old monk answered. Hawk introduced himself and showed the monk a picture of Preacher. The monk took the picture and closed the door. Hawk waited another ten minutes before the door opened again. This time a younger monk appeared to greet him.

"Good Morning, I am Brother Dajad, Abbot of this monastery. What can I do for you?"

Hawk noticed that the Abbot held the picture of Preacher in his hand. "My name is Clayton Abernathy. I am looking for the man in that picture."

"Abernathy..." The Abbot's eye's widened. "You are the one called _Hawk_?"

Hawk nodded, grinning at the designation.

Dajad led Hawk inside the church. The antechamber was a long stone-laden walkway in which various stain-glass sculptures adorned the walls.

"You have a beautiful place here, Brother Dajad."

"We are just doing God's work. _Mister Preacher_ visits us occasionally in order to meditate. He insists on earning his keep by doing odd jobs and chores."

"So, I take it that Preacher has told you all about me?"

"He has not _told_ me anything, but rather relayed it in writing."

" _In writing_?" Hawk asked, nonplussed.

"The priests here have taken a vow of silence as an act of faith. However, In Mr. Preacher's case, it appears that his was a vow made by an act of attrition. I only pray that one day he trusts God to ease his burden, for _His_ yoke is light."

Dajad left Hawk at the door leading to a small cell. Dajad returned the photo to Hawk and said his goodbyes. Hawk knocked on the door. After some shuffling inside, the door opened. A figure in a dark hooded robe stood before him in the doorway. The figure removed his hood.

Hawk greeted him with a weak smile. "Hello, Preacher."

Preacher stood aside and let Hawk enter. It was a small drafty room with a single cot against the far wall. Across from the door, there was a window overlooking the forest outside. In the corner, at the foot of the cot, all of Preacher's possessions were contained inside of an army issue duffle bag.

"I've been trying to keep tabs on you, but you dropped off the grid for a while. For what it's worth, I'm glad that you're alive and well."

Preacher did not respond. He retrieved the drawing pad left on his cot, then returned to the window and picked up a black grease-pencil from the tray on the windowsill. He looked to the forest outside. The pencil scratched across the paper. Hawk leaned over to see the unfinished drawing of a timber wolf among the foliage.

"Your private war on Asian crime families is stepping on quite a few toes. You have a lot of people looking for you. I suppose I would be wasting my breath trying to convince you how foolish this crusade of yours is."

The only response Hawk got was a glare out of the corner of Preacher's eyes. Hawk stepped back to a respectful distance.

"The Abbot warned me that you can't, or won't speak."

Preacher shook his head in answer and continued drawing.

"Why not? Is it physiological? Post-traumatic?"

Preacher did not respond.

Hawk averted his eyes. "I'm so sorry... for everything."

Preacher did not respond.

"I know you don't _owe_ me anything… I haven't exactly been sensitive to your situation…." He cursed. "On the way up here, I was trying to think of what I would say to you. It's funny how words can be a stumbling block when it comes to getting at the truth."

Preacher did not respond.

"What if I told you there was a way to find Tho."

Preacher's pencil stilled.

"It turns out that CIA and DIA both got it wrong: Destro and Tho were merely middle-men. We believe that the real player is a man, as of yet, unseen. He's winning over scores disillusioned and expatriated military professionals under a rallying cry of anti-establishment rhetoric. Finding this _shadow commander_ could give you a lead into tracking down Tho."

Preacher tore a fresh sheet from his drawing pad. He selected the _red_ grease-pencil from the tray and started to draw on the paper. After a quick sketch, he showed the drawing to Hawk: a crude depiction of a cobra.

"Yes, that's their banner," he said in surprise. "You've had some dealings with them, I take it?"

Preacher nodded.

"In a few short years, he has managed to amass the fifth _largest_ army in the world. His lieutenants are a motley crew of international gangsters with no clear prior affiliation. However, the scariest thing of all is, we have no idea how he's funding this. He pays mainly in rare gems and precious metals, yet we can find no evidence of mining operations or production facilities to sustain his cash flow. It's like this guy came out of nowhere with infinite resources at his disposal. As cheesy as it sounds, we believe that his ultimate aim is no less than world domination."

Hawk saw that he still had Preacher's attention, although he appeared unmoved.

"In response to this threat, Kilo Company has been reactivated under new colors. It's now code-named GI Joe. Some of your old teammates have enlisted, but we're also pulling the best and the brightest from all of the other branches as well. Our main focus will be gathering intelligence, but I expect that these kids are gonna have to chew some serious dirt. They need practical training in combat situations. That's were you come in: you're the best battlefield commando I've ever seen. Also, judging from the path of destruction that you left all over Asia, it's apparent that you've acquired some new skills as well."

Hawk clenched his jaw. His words had been met by another poker-face stare from Preacher. He decided to stop rambling and get to the point, without any more words getting in the way.

"Will you come back to The States with me? Will you be _my_ secret weapon?"

Preacher tore a new sheet off the pad and grabbed the blue grease pencil. Hawk grinned when Preacher revealed his handiwork:

YO KILO!

Hawk straightened. "There's one small complication. There would no doubt be questions raised with you coming back after six years of being AWOL. Submitting your re-enlistment papers will require a degree of creativity. For your protection, I'll classify your real name and your serial number, but you'll need to choose a new code-name for yourself."

Preacher discarded the pad, walked over to his duffle bag and retrieved the small drawstring therein. Hawk approached, and Preacher poured the contents of the purse into the elder soldier's hand.

A smile came across Hawk's face when he unfolded his palm. He stared at the dice in his hand; two single pips stared back at him.

"I think _he_ would have liked that."

Hawk proffered his hand, and the soldier formerly known as Preacher returned his handshake.

"Welcome to the team… _Snake-Eyes_."

~The End~

* * *

 

 

Author's Challenge: Knowing what you know now, go back and see if you catch any clues that you missed the first time around.


End file.
